Becoming
by burneraccount1990
Summary: It was different this time. His hand reached out, cupping her face. Persephone shut her eyes when she felt his lips touch her forehead. The waterfall that guarded the mouth of cave roared, though its sound was a distant and gentle rush in her ears. She felt his warm breath tickle her face, his scent of earth and sweat filling her nose. He sighed. "Do you want this?" "Yes."
1. Prologue

Gold streaks of early morning sunlight peeked through the leaves of the trees, warmed the dewy grass on the ground. The flowers stood in a glade, their stems and petals gently swaying in waves of yellows and pinks and blues. Brown, weathered hands touched the petals, absorbed their warmth. The owner of the hands sighed contentedly and pulled at a stem, brought the flower to her nose, inhaled its sweet scent.

Quietly she observed the rustling of the leaves and the quick, wary scuttling of small creatures. The colors, the warmth, the forest brimming with life: the work of her talented daughter. She smiled, though her joy waned quickly.

Indeed, even as the sun's early brightness caressed the forest to wakefulness, a deep, indefatigable cold began to take root. The chill sank slowly into her flesh as well; it was only her strength as the Lady of Harvest that kept her from freezing in place. Soon, the flowers' vibrant colors drained, their once-green stems turning brown and dead. A path of decay cut through the green of the glade: methodic, sure footsteps walking swiftly through the Land of the Living.

Death's Master moved through shadows of the trees, unseen though not unnoticed; the piercing cold and decay heralded his arrival.

The Lady wrapped her wool blanket tightly around herself, but the biting air did not abate.

"Brother," she said, struggling against the cold, "remove your helm so that I may see you." Metal crashed against the ground, dropped carelessly and landing heavily. Even so, she could not see him clearly, for he had obscured himself in darkness and did not yet wish to be seen. As she reached back into the halls of her memory, she found that she could not remember what he looked like. Perhaps he had always been darkness incarnate. Or perhaps he had been fully subsumed into the power of his realm…

At that thought, the Lady released a quick breath. For the first time since the war, she felt fear grip her heart, though this fear was not for her own fate, but for that of her daughter's.

A sharp noise emanated from him, loud and all-encompassing. He was speaking to her, she knew. Yet his words sounded like the very earth before her was being rent asunder. She could not understand him.

"Brother, please!" She looked at the dark figure in front of her—obstinate, unforgiving, frigid—and she cried out.

And, soon as he had come, he was gone. The warmth returned, the decay subsided. Strong hands gripped her shoulders.

"He cannot make himself understood in the Land of the Living anymore, dear sister." His voice rumbled through her like thunder. She turned to him, pressed her face into his broad chest, and wept.

"He will come for her soon. Is that what will become of my daughter?" She grasped at his shoulders.

"Perhaps. But perhaps not. It is different on the mountain. He is different."

She looked up into his eyes, gray inscrutable storm clouds, and she vowed that she would not allow her daughter to become a dark shade of her former self.


	2. Chapter 1: Of Plans and Meetings

The Lord of Oceans sat, reaching his awareness out to the depths of his realms. Within himself, he felt its churning seas and crashing waves while his brothers bickered before him.

"The time has come for you to take your bride."

"I've no interest in an ignorant child."

"She is not a child, Aidon."

"I've no interest in an ignorant woman."

"How do you know she is ignorant?"

"Our sister raised her. I know."

"Of course. You know so much, Aidon, slinking about in that dark realm of yours, visiting only when summoned here. You've never even met the girl, and yet you simply know that she is an ignorant child. Your omniscience amazes me, truly. Would that _I_ could have drawn the short straw myself and gained your land of shades instead of this one. My knowledge would be far better for it, it seems."

"...Tread lightly, little brother."

On and on the argument went, ebbing and flowing like the tides the Ocean Lord ruled over, until finally Aidon acquiesced to the wishes of their king. Soon Aidon strode by, his heavy footsteps ringing in the Ocean Lord's ears.

"Brother," is all Aidon said by way of goodbye, and the Ocean Lord caught only a short glimpse of his sibling's face through the openings in his helm. He could not remember the last time he had seen his brother's face clearly—or if, indeed, he had _ever_ seen his brother's face clearly. A tired sigh made the Ocean Lord return his focus back to his king.

"What am I going to do with him?"

"Leave him be?"

"A lord must have an heir."

"A human lord, maybe."

" _All_ lords must have an heir."

The Ocean Lord shrugged, put a date between his teeth, and bit down. The fruit's soft flesh burst against his tongue and brought him an immense pleasure. The food on the mountain was always better than in the banquets of the sea.

"Marry that poor girl off to another family," the Ocean Lord said, grabbing another date, "create an alliance. Those northerners could use another flower goddess."

"I will not ignore the demands of prophecy, Poseidon."

"Then you have your answer."

"So it seems. When did you become so even-tempered and wise?"

Poseidon only smiled in answer.

* * *

Kora tugged on the end of her dress, despairing at the texture of the rough, homespun fabric between her fingers. Aphrodite stood before her, beauty among beauties, dressed in soft silk that served only to accentuate the curves of her body. She was the epitome of femininity, and Kora felt like a bag of dirty wheat in comparison.

She did not belong at court among illustrious lords and ladies, clearly. After all, it had only been a day since she learned her father was not simply a lord, but indeed the king of their worldly sphere. Suddenly she'd been whisked away to court by her newly-discovered father, seeing men and women she had only previously heard about in stories. But they weren't just stories anymore; they were flesh and blood people, as real as the humans she interacted with every day. She saw Ares boasting with his great axe and mane of fire; she saw Athena, feathered and fierce, regaling her students with tales of hard-won battles, and many other immortals besides. The chamber was alight with raucous laughter and conversation. She felt incredibly out of place.

Rather abruptly, the chatter lowered to a low rumble and then stopped entirely. Kora traced Aphrodite's eyeline, saw the man who had caused everyone to cease their conversations and stare. And he stopped what he had been doing too, it seemed; stopped walking mid-stride, even. He appeared to be looking at her, just as she was looking at him. Caught.

 _Stars above, he is tall_ , thought Kora. It was true. Even for an immortal, he was tall, and his helm served to make him look even taller. Almost immediately he appeared in front of her, his great size threatening to swallow her up. Looming; he was _looming_ over her. For the first time that evening, Kora felt irritated instead of embarrassed. How dare he? She gathered her courage, prepared to spit out the most acerbic insult she could think of.

She looked up at him and her words turned to ash on her tongue. Through the visor of his helm she saw a single, sharp blue eye; an eye so brightly blue she thought it almost glowed—though it had no twin that she could see.

"You are Demeter's daughter," he said. His voice was deep and somewhat muffled through the helm. His words surprised her; her father hadn't officially announced who she was at court. For all anyone knew, she was yet another forest nymph the king had taken a special liking to. She could easily pass for one, with her unkempt hair and sack of a dress; and the queen had treated her as such too, illegitimate child of the king though she actually was. Everyone seemed keen on ignoring her, glancing only occasionally in her direction with vague disgust, and generally treating her like one might treat a rather large but benign insect.

Yet this stranger knew she was Demeter's daughter.

And she felt stupid, because she did not immediately recognize who _he_ was; humans rarely spoke of him, and when they did, it was always in harsh whispers and curses. Even still, he was looking at her, assessing her, it seemed.

"Y-yes, my lord—"

His harsh gaze pierced through her eyes and into her skull, making her feel exposed and, worst of all, _seen_. Truly, deeply seen. She could almost feel him inside her mind, rooting around for weakness; and within herself, she saw him, unarmored and as vulnerable as she. He grunted, a quick, short sound of unexpected pain and annoyance, and she shuddered in response. It was in that moment that she realized the man who stood before her was the Lord of the Dead, and she stumbled back, alarmed, only to be caught and steadied by his gloved hand on her arm.

"Well met. Excuse me."

There he left her, in the hall of immortals, without another word, and the lords and ladies that had ignored her for a better part of the evening now swarmed around her like wasps. Where she had once been a wilting flower in their presence, they now saw a fertile blossom, ripe with nectar—and naivety to exploit. All around her, Kora saw predators; Ares's newly piqued interest particularly frightened her. Of all the immortals, she knew him to be one of the most taciturn and quick to anger.

"Why would our dear uncle bother to speak a word to you?" Ares asked, stepping closer. His mane of fire grew brighter, illuminating his ash-gray skin. The veins of his thick neck bulged out. He did not look human, or even close to it.

"Idiot. She's yet another sibling, can't you see?" Athena remarked. This close, Kora could see flecks of gold in the black feathers that stemmed from her arms. "At least this one isn't some horrible half-breed."

"I...I don't—" It was too much; the immortals were crowding around her, each more incredible-looking than the last. They were all so close. Panic started to rise in her. She couldn't breathe.

"Stars above, why don't you all leave the young lady alone?" The voice was a woman's, soft but commanding. Kora immediately knew that it was Aphrodite, and gave praise to the stars silently for her good fortune. "'Tis bad enough that she had to deal with that boor of a man already. Give the girl some space."

The immortals listened, though Ares winked defiantly at his ex-lover. His wolfish grin made Kora slightly nauseous, and soon she found herself mercifully being sat down on a bench in the outer garden, with Aphrodite rubbing her back soothingly, almost absent-mindedly.

"They're all children, the lot of them. And they wonder why the mortals make fewer sacrifices every year? Please. Absolute children," she said. She took Kora's hands in hers. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Thank you, Lady Aphrodite."

"Please, just call me Dite. Honorifics have never suited me."

Kora looked down at the hands holding hers and saw that they were perfect. Her skin was a honey brown that shown almost like gold, smooth to the touch and clean. In comparison, Kora's hands were rough and mannish; calloused from her time spent tending gardens and helping her mother in the fields. She immediately removed her hands from Aphrodite's kind hold. She did not want to soil the Lady of Love and Beauty.

Aphrodite smiled sadly at her, but did not protest.

From her bench, Kora looked out to the garden, viewed the immaculate statues of the immortals. Kora searched and searched and searched, but—

"You'll not find his likeness here," Aphrodite commented, her voice light. "He does not consider himself to be of the mountain."

"The mortals are right to fear him," Kora said. She crossed her arms. "He is...so cold and...large."

Aphrodite laughed, and the sound was wonderful but confusing. Kora's ears burned.

"Why do you laugh, Lady Aphro—I mean, Dite?"

"Because, darling, young Kora, you have so much to learn." Kora felt Aphrodite's perfect hand cup her cheek. She had to concentrate to keep her mouth from hanging open.

"The mortals have many reasons to fear many of the lords and ladies in that room," she continued. "They are capricious and petulant, and very often too powerful for their own good. Ares revels in war and destruction and treats the mortals as mere toys for his games but so, too, do the others. Poseidon is as gracious as he is hateful, and you can never be sure what he will be most like on a given day. The Master of Death, brutish as he is at times, is none of those things."

Kora wanted to believe her. Intimidating as she was, Kora felt that she could trust the Lady, certainly more so than the other immortals. But when she thought of Death's Master, all she felt was a frigid dread. His glowing eye burned within her mind, cold as ice and yet as blue and bright as a searing flame.

Kora held herself tighter. She was glad he kept no statue on the mountain.

She hoped to never see him again.


	3. Chapter 2: The Shades of Hades

_Mother, where is my mother?_

 _Everything hurts…_

 _I need to find my Da, I can't find my Da…_

Aidon shut his eyes, grit his teeth. The voices of new shades grew louder with every passing day; their unrelenting cries pounded behind his eyes, each one demanding to be heard. His skull throbbed, a brain-case threatening to split in two. Leaning forward, he pressed his palms to his eyes in a vain attempt to relieve the discomfort.

 _My family, my family…_

 _Please help me…_

 _Penelope, where are you?_

 _I'm so cold..._

 _My lord…_

 _My lord..._

" _My Lord Aidoneus."_

He opened his eyes, saw his servant Trico kneeling before him. Aidon regarded him quietly. Trico served faithfully and earnestly, needing a purpose in the afterlife. The shade had been a mortal youth of low birth, killed in battle before he turned twenty. Not yet twenty, yet cut down brutally before he could even grow a proper beard. An adult by mortal reckoning, though in many ways, Trico was still only a boy.

The wasted life of a used young man; the plaything of older, richer men who would very likely never see battle. Aidon hated such men: the exploiters and hypocrites of the world who accumulated wealth through the suffering of lower castes. He knew the suffering and pain of his subjects intimately, saw the inner heart of every man and woman he judged, and as a result, sought to make their afterlife free from such earthly agony. That is, except, for the men who specialized in causing the pain; for them, he devised special punishments only possible in the region of Tartarus—a region whose depths even _he_ feared to fully explore.

"What it is it, Trico?" Aidon asked, returning from his reverie. His head felt close to bursting.

"The Witch of the Crossroads requests your presence, she says it is urgent."

Aidon nodded, draping his body in shadow and arriving instantly at the door of Hecate's humble home. A simple hut, carved from the small tributary roots of one of the great World Trees, served as her abode.

He rapped his hand lightly against the door.

"Come in," Hecate said. "Mind your head."

Aidon stepped inside, bending at the waist—crouching, really—to avoid hitting his throbbing skull against the low ceiling of Hecate's hut. Her back was still towards him.

"Hecate," he said, attempting to get her attention once more, "you requested my presence. Trico said that the matter was urgent."

"I made some tea," she responded. Her tone was relaxed and decidedly not urgent. "A friend brought it to me from the Eastern Sphere. Help yourself."

"Hecate, I have other duties to attend to—"

"Relax, my lord. The matter is urgent, but not so urgent that we cannot have some tea and discussion beforehand."

The cries of shades resounded in his mind once more, ushering in a wave of vertigo and nausea. He tightly gripped the back of the wooden chair in front of him, keeping his balance. His vision, already handicapped, began to blur.

"You're right," he conceded. He had no wish to argue with her, not in this state. "I think it would be best if I sat down." Sitting brought instant relief to his dizziness, though the voices of the shades persisted, drumming in his mind incessantly. Impulsively, he took a sip of the hot drink in front of him, grimaced, and placed the cup back on the table. He heard Hecate's soft chuckle.

"Not to your liking, eh?"

"I don't understand how you can drink such a foul liquid, let alone enjoy it."

Hecate laughed, setting a bowl of pistachio pudding in front of him as she joined him at the table. Aidon eyed the pudding ruefully; he was hungry, but nausea still roiled in his stomach.

"I have a refined palate, Aidon, whereas you...well, you still prefer sweets to anything else."

"Now, now," he tsked, waving a finger playfully, "don't go spreading around knowledge of my vices. I have, ah, an image to maintain, after all." He wanted to cringe; his voice sounded weak.

"Oh how could I forget? The Lord of the Dead must be so intimidating that mortals wet themselves at the mere mention of his many, many names. It is a requirement for the position."

"Just so," he said, doing his best to smile. Hecate's midnight gaze grew concerned.

"You're not well."

"I'm fine."

"You've not touched your food, my lord."

"I'm fine, Hecate." Just then, the inconsolable cry of a human infant echoed loudly through his mind, causing him to clench his fists tightly. "It's nothing."

Hecate remained unimpressed and unconvinced, but she did not press him further. She took a sip of her tea, leaned back in her seat.

"What of your betrothed?"

 _Messy_ , he thought. The girl was of the earth, like her mother: her skin a mahogany brown, her hair a bedraggled mess of tight, golden red curls that framed her freckled face. It was clear that she had never been to court before. Irritated with the question, Aidon's mind raced.

 _Inexperienced_. _Naive_. _Little more than a child_.

Then he thought of her arms, her well defined shoulders and collar bone. Well made, and in stark contrast to the dirty rags she wore. She had the body of a warrior, and the spirit of one, too. The way she looked at him, the anger in her eyes had struck him like a viper, two emeralds seething. He hadn't seen such a vibrant green before and ended up scrutinizing her longer than he should have, transfixed.

Hecate took another sip from her tea, looked at him expectantly. The delay in his answer amused her, he could tell.

He shut his eyes. His betrothed was of the earth: the fact seemed strangely poetic. Mortals came from the earth, were molded from it, born from it—and to the earth they returned. In battle, humans dropped to the ground, dug their fingers into the dirt; in return, the soil sheltered them, protected them. Face and belly pressed into the ground, arrows and catapult debris became a smaller worry. _Like a mother comforts a suckling babe, so too does the soil of Gaia comfort humans_ , Aidon said to himself. The mortals may bury or burn their dead, but in the end, this difference does not matter; their ashes or bones return to the earth, all the same. Indeed, Aidon knew that in Death's presence, human beings worshipped only Gaia, in all worldly spheres. Perhaps it was fitting, then, that his consort would command a similar power. Perhaps it would prove to be a boon, to have such a wife.

And yet…. it was clear to him that Kora knew little in the ways of the immortals. Demeter had seen to that, in an attempt to keep her daughter simple and unassuming—and to be of very little use for anything apart from growing flowers and threshing crops.

Sighing, he said at last, "She seems a poor match."

"That's all?"

"We didn't speak."

"Hardly surprising that the Lord of the Dead isn't one for much words." She laughed. "What _did_ you do? Menace her with your height?"

"You mock me. But yes, I suppose I did. She stumbled away from me."

"Stars, Aidon, you can be such an oaf."

"Good. Maybe Zeus will recognize my oafishness and marry his child off to someone else."

"Please, Aidon, you jest."

"I don't. The girl is a wood sprite."

"No!" Hecate's rich laughter filled the hut.

"She had leaves and twigs sticking out of her hair."

"Now you're the one who's mocking me, my lord. Demeter would not send her daughter to court in such a state. Unless—you're serious aren't you? _Stars above_ , the poor girl!"

"And she was dressed in a wool sack. She smelled like a goat," he said, holding his nose and grinning. He enjoyed making Hecate laugh. _What would it be like to make Kora laugh?_ he wondered. He imagined the sound of her voice: rich and sweet like honey, even in her fear. Would she be surprised that he, the Lord of the Dead, he that frightened her so, could make her laugh? How delicious would her look of surprise be? And what other responses could he elicit from her…

 _Enough_. He drowned the intrusive thoughts.

"I'm sure she's beautiful."

"Beautiful? Yes. Yes, I suppose she's beautiful if you're partial to unkempt women who smell like animals."

"Come now, Aidon, you spent the better part of a minute thinking about the girl. I see that look on your face."

"What look?"

"The stupid look all men get when they think about the beautiful woman they want to bed."

"I don't want to bed her," he scoffed, though his indignation was half-hearted at best.

"You may be able to lie to yourself, Aidon, but you can't lie to me. I know you too well."

"We'll see—"

In that moment, a surge of pained voices racked his mind and body. He doubled over in his seat.

 _Mother, mother, mother…_

 _They stole from me_

 _I can't find my family…_

 _The pain...the pain..._

 _Murdered...murdered…_

Aidon didn't know how long he sat there; each passing voice slowed time, the agony of every shade piercing through him and setting his skin aflame, until at last he thought he stood at the edge of eternity. Within himself, he saw Kora's face, though it was changed. No longer was she the simple girl he looked over while on the mountain; no, she was now a woman, regal and defiant. She was now the glimpse of the strength he saw in her eyes, personified; the glimpse that had caused him to recoil and retreat.

A wet cloth on his face brought him back to the present. Hecate was saying something to him, though her words sounded muffled, as if she were speaking to him through water.

"What?" he asked.

"You're beginning to worry me, Aidoneus," she repeated, gently. "And not just me. Morpheus and Hypnos are beginning to talk."

"Let them talk," Aidon said, attempting to stand—only to immediately sit back down. Hecate's hut spun before him; he would not be able to find his footing for quite some time. He groaned. "How long have I been here?"

"Long enough, Aidon."

He looked at the pistachio pudding, still untouched. Thoughts of eating twisted his stomach into knots.

"Why did you summon me?" he asked, his jaw tight.

Hecate removed the cloth from his forehead, sat back in her chair.

She looked at him, and said simply, "Tartarus is growing."

* * *

A/N: Hello, everyone! Please leave your feedback in the comments, thank you! I appreciate your readership!


	4. Chapter 3: Under the Tutelage of Ladies

In the days that followed Kora's introduction to the Olympian court, she began to feel more comfortable with her regal surroundings, and indeed, her heritage. Aphrodite guided her when she could, teaching her in the intricacies and political intrigue of courtly life, and instructing her in the ways of proper fashion.

"A noble woman must be learned in letters and in crafts, yet she must also know how to dance and be festive," the Lady of Love and Beauty said, her voice light and jovial. Kora thought that she moved through crowds as if carried by a cloud; she floated gracefully from one group of chattering immortals to the next. She was a butterfly and the immortals were her flowers. Kora wanted to be like her.

"I'm not sure I have those skills, Dite. My mother...well, my mother only ever taught me about harvesting and gardening."

"Silly girl," the Lady giggled, throwing her rich brown hair over her shoulder, "in time, you will learn those skills. 'Tis the very reason you are here. Thou art of royal blood and thou art meant for so much more than harvesting and growing flowers, dear Kora. Would that you could only see this fact plainly within yourself."

 _But what is wrong with living the simple life of a farmer?_ Kora wanted to ask. _Mother and I provide the realm with bread and honey_... Yet Kora held her tongue and smiled. The Lady was simply offering advice; Kora knew that she would do well to heed it.

"I will try—"

"I might've known that this harlot would be filling your small mind with nonsense." The voice was deep, and yet clearly a woman's. Kora turned and saw that the voice belonged to Athena.

"Parthenos," the Lady said, "so nice of you to join us. Your feathers could use some pruning, it seems."

Athena crossed her arms, though her expression remained stoic. She had the same gray eyes as the King, and in them Kora saw both cunning and wisdom.

"Your infant is causing a row," Athena said, nonchalantly.

"Oh dear, that's not good…" The Lady attempted to keep her tone casual, but for the first time since Kora met her, Aphrodite seemed to be taken off guard.

"Better go see to it that he doesn't start a war."

"Yes, of course. Athena," she said, nodding curtly at the King's chief strategist. "Kora, I shall see you soon to continue your lessons. We'll make a courtesan of you yet."

"Yes, Dite," Kora said, and the Lady smiled as she left their small corner of the pavillion. That her lessons in courtly manners had been cut short did not matter to Kora in the slightest, as the sight of the Lady's generous smile made her feel warm and happy.

"You call her _Dite_?" Athena scoffed. "Has she tied strings around your wrists and ankles and made you sing and dance for her as well, hmm? Answer me, you dirty peasant." Her words burned, and so acerbic and biting was her tone, that Kora wanted to weep.

"She means to turn you into a whore, you know," Athena continued, inspecting the feathers on her forearms. They did look slightly disheveled, though Kora had no desire to point this out to the cruel goddess.

"Though I suppose it _is_ a wasted effort. After all," Athena said, looking Kora up and down, "you are simply a bastard, and one among hundreds at that. I see your watery eyes. Do not weep; your tears will not be enough to clean the trail of filth you've left in your wake. The earth clings to your skin like a parasite, and," Athena curled her lip, "you smell of mortal goat herders."

Tears sat at the edge of Kora's eyes, but she would not allow them to fall.

"You need not worry about me weeping, Lady Athena," she said, her voice cracking with burgeoning emotion. Still, Kora remained steadfast and did not weep, for she would not allow the cruel words of the war goddess to smother her spirit. "I may be ignorant to the workings of court, but I am not a child that will be cowed or broken by your insults. I am a goddess in my own right."

At that, Athena's brows furrowed, and for a moment, Kora felt fear crawl cross her skin, a legion of spiders, cold and prickly. Slowly, however, Athena's expression turned from one of dark anger to one of malicious satisfaction, and an immense, vicious smile cracked across her flinty face. Kora was not certain which expression frightened her more.

"I see that you are a fighter. Good," Athena said, "you will need that strength for what comes next, my dear _sister_."

"What do you mean by 'what comes next'?"

"Why, the Hellenic Ball, of course."


	5. Chapter 4: Into the Deep

The air tasted bitter and smelled of rotting eggs; its noxious heat burned in the lungs of those who breathed its scent. In and out the breaths came, measured and controlled. To suffocate here would be a shameful end.

Aidon surveyed the ruinous landscape before him: an ocean of boiling, black liquid stretched out to jagged mountain peaks on the far side of the shore—the land of annihilation.

To his left bubbled countless pools of steaming acid, dangerous even to his kind. Indeed, within the deeper regions of Tartarus, the difference between mortals and immortals all but collapsed. All were in danger of being slain. It is for this very reason that he did not send shades here for punishment; their spirits would be permanently destroyed, either by the environment or by the primordial creatures that lurked in the darkness, waiting for fresh prey.

To his right, Aidon saw Trico, holding his standard of a charging black bull on a field of white asphodels. The young man's dark eyes betrayed no emotion, though Aidon could sense his fear; it was the same fear shared by the rest of his mortal retinue, shades and chimaera alike. To die here would mean oblivion.

Despite his earthly reputation as an unfeeling and cold ruler, Aidon cared deeply for his subjects. He saw their lives and hardships, the decisions they made and the guilt they carried. And, despite his better judgement, he had allowed himself to grow close to one, a young man named Trico. The boy had no one; his family had abandoned him as a child, so that even in the afterlife, he was alone, a restless wanderer who refused to till in the Fields of Asphodel, living out a peaceful existence with the other shades. Nor would he go to Elysium, for he fought bravely and died too early in life, and his young spirit burned too brightly to rest eternally in paradise.

Indeed, so brightly did Trico's soul burn that Aidon did not react with surprise but with admiration when his guards, Krios and Ged, brought the young man before him as a prisoner.

"We caught this lout attemptin' to sneak past the borders of Tartarus, m'lord. The hundred-handed were fixin' to rip him apart, were it not for our timely arrival," Krios said, kicking the boy behind the knees, forcing him to kneel. Aidon glared at his foolish retainer, and the old satyr shivered in response.

"A-a-apologies, m'lord, it's just that—"

"I have already sat in judgement of you, boy," Aidon said, ignoring the satyr and returning his attention to the young man. "Your sins were not deserving of eternal damnation in the bowels of Tartarus, so why do you foolishly seek to enter its depths?"

The young man bowed his head, though whether it was done in fear or as a sign of respect, Aidon could not tell.

"To feel something, O King Hades, Great Lord of the Unseen Lands," the boy responded, resolutely.

The epithet, said with reverence and sincerity, pushed Aidon back into his throne, caused the palms of his hands to tingle with untapped strength.

"Even if it means fear?" Aidon asked, almost breathless, so intrigued was he by the power of the boy's invocation of his title.

"Even if it means fear, O King. Even if it means a second death and oblivion eternal in the World Between Worlds. I was but fourteen when my liege lord conscripted me to his army, only just beginning to fall in love with the world, before I was forced to dissever men and beast and earth, all. I know nothing now but bloodshed and fury; I feel nothing in their absence but emptiness and despair."

"I see... Impressive words for a mortal shade, I must admit. Yet you risk great pain and suffering, young man, such that you have never witnessed or experienced before. Do you understand this?"

" 'Tis better than feeling nothing, my lord."

Aidon considered this. He supposed that for some shades, freedom from pain brought its own, unique form of suffering: a lack of meaning or sense of being part of a greater cause. He sat in thought for a long while, looking over the shade that kneeled before him, straight-backed and fists clenched. _Such spirit!_ Aidon thought. _A spirit worthy Elysium._ Yet Aidon now understood why the boy would not tolerate paradise.

"You need a purpose," he finally offered, weighing his words carefully. "You seek meaning in the afterlife, a place where meaning is no longer necessary, and so you desperately rush towards your own annihilation. This desperation I recognize but, young man, do not be a fool: having a purpose does not mean you ought to suffer."

The boy raised his face to meet Aidon's gaze, and his expression was one of wonder. A question formed in the boy's eyes, a secret hope that the dark god before him would prove to be compassionate in his need—a secret hope that Aidon had no issue fulfilling, for he felt a great sense of peace in being kind to the shades he ruled over.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Astur the Fatherless of Thrace, my lord."

"No, not your name from Gaia. Look inside yourself and tell me your _true_ name."

The boy closed his eyes and concentrated, and Aidon watched as the realization began to dawn on his beardless face.

"T...Trico," the boy said, slowly, as if he were assessing the taste of the name on his tongue. "My name is Trico, Thane of the Unseen King."

Aidon smiled. "And so you are."

In the years that followed, Aidon felt that the boy began to think of him almost as a father, and return, Aidon began to view Trico as something close to a son. This, of course, was a feeling Death's Master was loath to admit, even to himself—for immortals caring for mortals always proved to be troublesome—and yet the feeling was real nonetheless; and Aidon made a mighty effort to keep it close to his heart and well-hidden. Yet, when Trico volunteered with great respect and earnestness to be the standard-bearer of this latest excursion into Tartarus's depths, Aidon had categorically refused, betraying the care he felt for the boy:

"I'll not have your soul be shred into nothingness because you wish to prove something, Trico."

"I've nothing to prove to you, my lord. I only wish to serve you as best I can, just as I've been doing all these years."

Aidon stood up from his throne, rising to his full, imposing height. His voice grew deeper and the air turned cold as he became one with the power of his realm.

"Understand this, _boy_ ," he said, his words heavy and booming like breaking earth, "your place as a servant in my kingdom is through my generosity alone."

Yet Trico did not shy away or cower, and instead only said: "As you say, Lord Aidoneus. I am at your service always; your simple retainer."

"That is all you are and nothing more. If you request to be put on this excursion again, I will force you to drink from the Lethe and have you till the fields of Asphodel for eternity. My altruism only runs so far. Do you understand, shade?"

"...Yes, my lord, I do."

"Yes indeed. Get out of my sight and attend to your duties. I do not wish to see you again today."

But the shade, in the fashion of a son gently pestering a father, whittled away at Aidon's resolve, until finally Aidon reluctantly acquiesced to his wishes. And now the boy, Trico, Thane of the Unseen King, stood next to Aidon as his standard-bearer, and his spirit seemed dimmed only slightly by the dark region of Tartarus—but dimmed nevertheless.

"You are afraid," said Aidon, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. He continued to look fixedly at the arduous path in front of him, the path that Hecate had guided him to. He had brought with him a small force of forty-three soldiers; they were all that could fit on Tartarus's dangerous trails. Their ranks were made up of spirited shades, souls similar to Trico, who burned too brightly for the lands of eternal rest, and various other creatures besides: centaurs, satyrs, minotaurs, and cyclopes.

The difference in species did not matter to Aidon; all that mattered was their loyalty and honor, and these forty-three were the most loyal and honorable thanes of his Stygian Corps. For Aidon, as Lord of the Unseen Lands, did not have use for a large standing army, unlike his brothers; rather, he kept a small corps of two hundred thousand, for use in defense of his realm and never invasion or expedition, until today.

"Yes, my lord, I am," Trico replied. He kept his eyes fixed forward, where the sun settled low in the red sky and sat in a perpetual state of eclipse. Aidon could see that Trico's grip on the guidon shaft was tight and white-knuckled.

"Would you like to return to the palace?"

"No, Lord Aidoneus. I am with you 'till the end."

"Very well," Aidon said, spurring his horse. "Now to climb."

Onward and upward Aidon and his forty-three went, with Hecate and Briareos of the hundred-handed in tow. As they journeyed deeper into Tartarus, the ground changed from earth and stone to decay and rot. Soon, they found themselves stepping on countless pale worms, and their boots and hooves pressed unpleasantly into the living floor beneath their feet. They moved quickly, for standing in place too long allowed the worms to latch onto their bodies and begin feasting on their flesh.

 _Crunch_ , _splash_ , _splish_ , their determined footsteps went, and the shrill cries of the worms sounded, unheeded.

Around them, a thick fog began to take hold, such that Aidon could no longer see. Bergeros, his great black steed, stomped his feet and neighed, refusing to move forward.

"Whoa, Bergeros, whoa," Aidon said, petting the beast's neck. It snorted in response, twitching its ears back and forth. "Hecate, tell me we are close."

He was troubled, for the fog had grown thicker, and the cries of the worms had grown louder.

"Unfortunately not, my lord. We've thousands of meters to go before we reach the source of the expansion—"

Suddenly, a great moan came; a sound of awesome hunger and anguish, and the slithering ground beneath their feet shook.

"Tiny creatures," the mighty voice said, foul and hateful. "Tiny creatures, come to play, tiny creatures come to the feast. Eaten you shall be, yes, yes, yes."

"Hold steady!" Aidon shouted, removing his sword from its hilt. Around them, the worms wailed, their cries sharp and deafening. " _Hold steady!_ "

"Eaten, eaten, flesh from bone, bone from flesh, yes, yes, yes!"

Bergeros reared, throwing Aidon to the ground; aimlessly, the beast darted forward, foam seeping out of its great flanks, and the forty-three watched in horror as the Steed of Hades was swept up by a large, clawed hand and ripped apart, its intestines spilling into the maw of a giant, thousand-legged worm.

Laughter surrounded them; laughter loud and numerous.

"Protect the King!" shouted Briareos. Burning eyes of flame circled the forty-three, and in the darkness of the mist, Aidon knew that they were legion. The voices of shades shouted in his mind; distantly, he noted the pain of worms burrowing into the flesh of his legs.

"My lord, you must stand!" The voice was young and frightened, but brimming with courage.

Roughly, Aidon felt himself being pulled up to his feet by Trico; the boy then inserted the guidon into the ground, stabbing the worms beneath with great determination and force.

"Come for feasting, the godlings have. To the pit they've run to us; eaten they shall be, O Lords of Longing."

"Behind me!" Aidon shouted. "Weapons at the ready!"

Bringing his hand across his blade, Aidon called forth the black flames of his realm and set fire to the creatures that surrounded them. Terrible shrieks of pain roared from the mist and the scent of burning flesh filled Aidon's nose.

"The godling burns us!" the creatures screamed, though their groans of agony soon turned into peels of laughter. "Burn us, solemn King, for thou and all thy kin shall be eaten!"

"Aidoneus!" Hecate shouted. Beside her, Briareos held off the gnawing fangs of a heinous mouth.

The attack then began en masse, and mercilessly and cruelly, and members of the forty-three fell, slaughtered like lambs.

"Full back, full back!" Aidon sent forth his black flames again, in wave after wave; a shield of darkness for him and his men—but on and on the creatures of Tartarus came and destroyed, unrelenting. They were hateful abhorrent, vile beasts of many heads, with flesh the texture of mortal innards. They smelled of disease and decay; they smelled of every evil Aidon had ever judged. "Hecate, get us out of here!"

"I am trying, my lord!" And she was. Aidon could see her shaking; could see her sweating profusely from the effort of trying to transport what was left of their force from the depths of Tartarus back to the borders of Chthonia.

In the chaos, Aidon saw his men being bitten in two, their lower halves falling to the ground, only to be eaten by the worms there. Once the soldiers had faced death; now they had been ripped from existence within the cosmos.

Time stopped, then, in that battleground of gore and slaughter, and in front of him, the great Worm-King stood.

"Hades, Unseen Lord of the Unseen Lands," it said, and Aidon saw the the creature's foul lips curled up into a parody of a smile. "Seen you are now, even with your helm."

"Release my men," Aidon said, holding his sword out in front of him. "Feast on me alone."

The creature's grin grew wider. " _Foolish godling, the Lords of Longing must be appeased—we shall feast on you all!_ "

Its massive maw opened, making to swallow Aidon whole, and Aidon thrust his sword into the top of its soft palate, yet the creature did not die. No, indeed: its sharp teeth came from behind and pierced through Aidon's cuirass, drawing ichor as it tore through his flesh and reached his insides.

"My lord!" Trico's voice. Frightened; incredibly frightened. The shout of a young boy scared for the fate of his father, rather than himself.

"Stay back, boy!"

Aidon shut his eyes, feeling the sharp teeth of the Worm-King root through his insides. Onward, he stabbed; onward he slashed at the creature, but it did not yield, and Aidon felt his strength waning, until young hands pushed him away from the maw of the Worm-King—and took his place instead.

" _Trico! No!"_  
On his belly, bleeding and weak, Aidon reached out, sending forth flames of darkness, but it was all for naught: verily, the half-dead Worm-King grabbed his faithful servant wreathed in black, protective flames, Aidon's mortal son, and tore the boy apart limb from limb.

" _Trico!"_

But it was too late. Aidon felt the boy's fiery spirit snuff out as soon it had been ripped from the cosmos. Yet Aidon screamed and rushed forward towards his own annihilation, insane with grief and regret, making to reach the Worm-King for one final battle, when in the next step he took, he found himself on the grounds of his palace.

Aidon looked around, bemused and exhausted: of the forty-three he brought with him, only ten survived, and all were badly wounded. The world spun in front of him; the voices of grieving shades resounded in his mind.

 _My family…_

 _Mother! Mother, please…._

 _My son...my son..._

"My son," Aidon repeated, pressing his palms to his face. "My son, my son…"

And there, surrounded by his remaining retainers, the Unseen King fell to his knees and wept.


	6. Chapter 5: The Ball

Chapter 5: The Ball

Strings of lyres strummed alongside whistling flutes and beating drums. The jovial notes of music traveled slowly but surely through the Grand Hall of Olympios, until at last the warm melodies filled the entire chamber with good cheer.

On the far side of the hall, near the arched garden entrance, Kora watched the crowd of mortal lords and ladies dance alongside nymphs and gods. She sipped quietly on her golden mead, smiling. The hearty liquid tasted of her favorite fruits—tart, juicy peaches, succulent apricots and bursting, red cherries—and, as the mead made its languid journey into her stomach, heating her from the inside out, Kora thought of Demeter.

"Oh, Mother," she whispered, smiling softly at the wondrous room before her. Countless tongues of twinkling flames hovered overhead and illuminated the vast chamber; their colors burned in hues of soft pinks and warm oranges. "Would that you could see me now."

On the central table sat rolling hills of food: rare cuts of lamb luxuriated next to perfectly seasoned pork legs; blocks of hard, savory cheeses huddled together next to their softer brethren; honey cakes and bowls of sweet pudding surrounded luscious fruit-filled pastries; piles of sun-dried tomatoes, beans, olives, and salads teetered on the top of the pile, near tender crab legs, mussels, and hot seafood stew. The more Kora looked at the food, the more food there seemed to be: it was a feast the likes of which she had never seen before, and one only made possible through mortal sacrificial offerings.

"Apollo, leave me alone, you stupid!"

"Father said I can do whatever I want!"

"No he didn't, you stupid!"

"Yes he did!"

"I'll go tell Mother if you don't—"

"You should leave your sister alone," Kora said, throwing the quarreling children a disapproving glance. Like her, they wore masks: the girl covered her face with the mask of a hunting dog and the boy wore the blue-back beak of a raven. Yet Kora knew who they were, for though the King had many illegitimate children, very few were treated with such reverence as the two standing before her.

"Who are _you_ to tell me what to do?" Apollo asked, attempting to sound threatening. Instead, his voice squeaked out, high-pitched and petulant; he sounded very much like the child that he was.

"Your older sister," Kora replied flatly, unimpressed with the boy's bluster.

"Mother says we have to respect what older people say, Apollo."

"Mother says this, Mother says that," the boy repeated, mockingly. "So what? Mother is just a woman, and you're _just a girl."_ He stomped his foot to emphasize his point.

"And you're just a little boy, so you ought to listen to me. Stop bothering your sister."

Apollo lifted up his mask and stuck his tongue out. He then made to pull his sister's hair again, when Athena's iron grip wrapped around his small, delicate wrist. Her owl's mask covered the top half of her face, though her giddiness was apparent in the way her thin lips twitched and curled with the ghost of a vicious grin.

"And what do we have here?" she asked, pulling the boy's hand painfully behind his back.

"Apollo's being stupid!"

"Shut it!" he squeaked, very clearly in pain.

"Now, now, little Apollo, you know that's no way for a prince to speak to a princess—"

" _She_ started it!"

"No I didn't, you stupid!"

"Yes you did—ow! Ow!"

"Athena," Kora said, stepping forward. "That's enough. You're hurting him."

"Oh, come now, precious Kora. He's a big, strong boy—and besides, we are but _women_ and _girls_. Aren't we, little brother?" She pulled harder, and young Apollo's raven beak had fallen from his face to reveal a wetland of tears on his chubby cheeks.

"Stars above, Athena, he is only a _child!_ "

"Children grow up. Boys become men, and if Fortune smiles upon them, they eventually become kings. Girls become women who eventually become the broodmares of kings—that is, if Fortune smiles upon them—and lesser men besides. The time to learn is now."

"If you hurt him any further, I will invoke the King's name."

"Filthy peasant. You wouldn't dare."

Athena's furious eyes of stone glowered at her and then flicked back towards the boy, whose tear-soaked cheeks had turned ruddy from discomfort. She let him go slowly, finger by by finger, as if the act of loosening her hard grip caused her pain.

"Run to your mother," she said, returning her flinty eyes to Kora. "Go now, the both of you."

The twins did not need to be told twice; off they ran into the hall, the milieu of lords and ladies remaining oblivious to their small and childish presence.

Meanwhile, Athena's lips curled slowly into a half-smile, a cruel smirk that Kora recognized and knew well by now.

"You've some nerve to presume to order me about, Kora," Athena said, lacing her words with venom and spite. "Spending all that time with that whore Aphrodite has already rotted your small mind. Indeed, it seems to me that you think yourself the Queen—what with threatening to bring my father into petty conflicts—and not the bastard that you truly are. Know your place, for you will never rise above it in this," she gestured towards the crowd, "our great chain of being."

"The King is my father as well, sister."

"The King is father to many, yet a bastard still remains a bastard, _dear sister_."

Kora wanted to roll her eyes, wanted to sigh heavily and shake her head. Instead, she took another sip of her mead and said simply, "You handled that well."

"Your sarcasm is noted."

"No, truly. Although I never knew your sphere of influence included hurting small children."

"You foul and loathsome little thing, your newfound arrogance will not last. There's a great deal you don't know; you are out of your depth here in every regard."

"So I've been told," Kora said, taking another sip of mead. "Yet it does not take a genius, military or otherwise, to recognize that you hurt that boy unnecessarily."

"Oh, please," Athena scoffed. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to Kora. Her feathers appeared to bristle. "Come off it."

Kora scanned the crowd, lazily looking from one group of dancing lords and ladies to the next. Finally she spotted the twins once again, and this time they were dancing together with their mother.

Kora smiled. "Thought it appears he's all right, now."

"Of course he is," Athena said. "So now he'll grow up to be just like the King and the Crowned Prince and every other horrible, idiot man in this corner of the world. Such is his right as a male, after all. Stars burn us all."

"Why are you so hateful?" Kora asked, noting how Athena's gold-tipped feathers appeared to grow sharper and more knife-like with every passing moment.

"Because of _that_ ," Athena spat, nodding her head in the direction of Ares, who had what looked like four nymphs in various states of undress clinging to his hips and shoulders. Roughly and rather unexpectedly, the Lady of War grabbed Kora's chalice from her hand, swallowed a generous mouthful of what was left of her mead.

"I was drinking that, you know."

"That idiot, that, that _fool_ ," Athena continued, pointedly ignoring Kora's look of disdain, "disgraces these halls with his constant philandering and chaotic war-making amongst the mortals. And yet in his unfailing wisdom, the King has made _him_ the heir apparent, the Crown Prince, while Hephaestus is the first-born son—and _I_ am the most qualified of the three legitimate children to bear the title."

"You're jealous?"

Athena's eyes shifted from dark stone walls into vicious storm clouds, though her gaze remained trained on Ares.

"No, dear little sister. Unlike you, jealousy is beneath me. No, I am not jealous; I am _angry_."

Kora wanted to reach out to her sister, to touch her sharply feathered shoulders and comfort her, soothe her rage. She too found Ares obnoxious, appalling even, especially with regards to how he played with mortal lives. Kora and her mother lived closely with the humans; among her group of friends, Kora counted several mortals. Indeed, a young woman named Cassandra was her closest friend, and she was the daughter of a simple mortal peasant. That Ares saw such people as playthings to do with as he wished made her stomach twist in knots. _And to grow up with such a monster as your brother, and in his shadow besides?_ Kora shuddered at the thought.

"I understand—"

"You understand nothing," Athena seethed. "Be grateful that you are only a bastard; nothing is expected of you and you've nothing to aspire to. That the twins were raised here at Court and you were left with your ignorant farmhand of a mother in Eleusis should demonstrate to you your utter worthlessness. Return to your fields of wheat and dirt, your forests filled with insects and beasts, Kora, for no one will have you here. You will not usurp my authority, and neither will that ancient harlot you so reverently and pathetically refer to as 'Dite.' You come from nothing; you are nothing; and nothing is all you will ever be."

With that, Athena drank what was left of the mead, unceremoniously dropped the chalice on the floor, and walked into the direction of Ares, who was still ostensibly entertaining several nymphs.

Kora clenched her jaw tightly as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. _Don't weep here, Kora_ , she told herself, bending down to pick up the fallen chalice. The Lady of War's words had cut Kora deeply again, despite her efforts to remain unbothered.

"She's so cruel," Kora whispered to herself.

"Who is so cruel?"

"N-no one..." she stammered. Startled by the voice, she stood up abruptly, and the back of her head collided directly the sandstone wall, which grunted—

 _Walls don't grunt_. Rubbing her head, Kora turned...and saw that she stood face-to-face with an armored abdomen, shining black and silver. Her stomach fell into the floor.

There was only one god she knew to be that tall.

"Lord Hades, my apologies, I—"

"Are you alright?" Of course she should have recognized him immediately; his voice was as rich and dark as the realm he ruled over. However, the soft tone of his questions surprised her: Death's Master sounded genuinely curious and...concerned for her.

 _No_ , Kora thought. _Absolutely ridiculous_. Surely that was her mind playing tricks. Perhaps, as the Lady of Love and Beauty had said, Hades was not capricious like Ares or petulant like Hephaestus. Yet for however much she may have trusted Aphrodite, Kora still did not believe that Hades was not a cruel god, and after dealing with Athena, she had dealt with enough cruelty for one day.

"Yes, my lord," she answered.

"Really? Because you sound as if you've been weeping."

 _Stars burn him_ , she thought, seething. _How dare he?_ She looked up at him, saw that his face was masked with the helm of a bull. She could see nothing of his eyes, even if she wanted to.

"Do I _look_ like I've been weeping, Lord Hades?"

Tears still balanced at the edges of her eyelids, threatening to fall at any moment. She hoped the power of her glare would conceal that fact. It was a dangerous game she was playing.

The helm shifted on his great shoulders, and he lifted his hand as if to scratch his chin in thought.

"I must admit," he finally said, after what seemed to Kora like much deliberation, "your colorful mask makes it difficult for me to tell, now." He reached for her, stopping just short of touching her face.

"May I?" he asked, his gloved hand hovering inches away from her cheek.

 _What is he playing at?_ Kora wondered. Yet curiosity got the better of her burgeoning dislike for him, and she nodded.

His touch was gentle, but he did not hold her delicately like she might break, the way Aphrodite or her mother would touch her face. Rather, he held her firmly, as if she were as durable as bronze, and the leather covering his palm felt cool and soft against her skin.

"I spot...let's see. Ah, yes, a smattering of freckles…" She felt the mask lift from her face and away from her head, felt the tender tracing of his thumb across her brows. She shut her eyes, heard him hum in amusement. "Eyes the color of only the most verdant forests…" Gingerly, he turned her head. "My, what a vision you are."

 _Not according to Athena_ , Kora thought bitterly. She did not know why she valued the opinion of the Lady of War so highly, but she did. She felt the telltale warmth of a tear roll down her cheek, and his leather clad thumb wiped the tear away almost as quickly as it had been shed.

"Kora, who has crushed your spirit so?"

 _Damn him_ , _no one has crushed me_ , she thought, and in her anger, more tears began to fall. Soon, her tears became an onslaught that she could not stop. _Damn him and his whole realm._

Awkwardly, he wrapped his arm and heavy cape around her, pressed her to him, and she wept against the cool metal that covered his stomach. His hand splayed against the top of her back, held her steady. She was not sure how long she wept there, or why he even bothered to try and comfort her, but she found that she was grateful for his embrace.

"It seems we have an audience," he said after some time, clearing his throat. He stepped back, nodded towards the crowd of immortals that was now staring at the two of them with an intense and spiteful interest. "Seems that you've earned Athena's ire, as well."

"Don't I know it," Kora said, half-heartedly laughing. She wiped the remaining tears from her face, replaced her mask. She could feel him looking at her, just as she could feel Athena's gaze boring through her.

"I'm guessing she is the cause of your distress."

"She is, my lord."

"You've made a dangerous enemy."

"Yes, my lord."

He chuckled then, a hearty sound tinged with an underlying bitterness that left her feeling cold.

"Do not be troubled, Kora. I've made a similar mistake. It seems we are kindred spirits in that regard."

She wanted to hide from him; she wanted to run to him—she didn't know what she wanted at all.

"Walk with me?" he asked, holding out his hand. "I'm weary of the festivities and you are upset. Fresh air will do us both some good." With the newfound distance between them, Kora noticed that he carried a sword at his hip. _At a ball? For what purpose?_ "Unless, of course, you want to stay in the sight of the madding crowd." She thought that if she saw his face, he would be smiling. The thought infuriated her, but she grinned despite herself. _Damn him._

"I will walk with you, my lord."

She took his massive hand in hers, and soon the pair began their meandering path through the olympian gardens. This close, she could smell him, and his scent was the hearthsmoke of freshly-kindled aspen wood; it was a strange smell, though not entirely unpleasant as it reminded her of the forests of her home.

He took long strides, and would have walked quickly, much more quickly than her, were it not for his slightly hobbled gait. After some time, when they were far from the Grand Hall's sounds of cheerful music and laughter, they stopped at a bench. Kora took the opportunity to sit and rest her feet, noting how he leaned heavily against a nearby pillar. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.

She looked up at the stars, daydreaming of the forests of Eleusis and of the day she would see her mother and Cassandra again. Together they sat in silence, until Kora heard him sigh irritably. His constant fidgeting surprised her, and Kora wanted to say something, to tease him maybe if she found the courage, but those thoughts died when she saw him press his hand into his abdomen.

 _So he is hurt._ Kora figured as much. The concept of an immortal sustaining an injury was not entirely foreign to her—she'd suffered her own scrapes and bruises climbing trees and rough housing while growing up in Eleusis—but a lord of Hades's eminence getting hurt, and hurt seriously? The idea was frightening.

"Would you…" she stopped when his helm turned towards her, its bull's expression harsh and implacable. She found herself wishing that he would remove the helm now, so she could better gauge what he was thinking; she hated trying to decode his intentions through his tone and body language alone. She heard another strange sound from him, and this time he hung his head forward. _He is only a man_ , she realized. Powerful, yes, brother to the King himself and the lord of a realm, but still just a man.

It was then that she decided she would not be intimidated by him, nor anyone else that stood among the immortals of Olympios. She would prove to them all that she and her mother were worthy of respect. She steeled herself. "Would you like to to sit down, Lord Hades?"

"Aidon."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Aidoneus; Aidon is my nickname, and what I prefer to be called. 'Lord Hades' is my title, and it is not to be used lightly."

"Aphrodite has asked me to call her 'Dite,' and now you ask me to call you 'Aidon.' Do all the Olympians hate their names, I wonder?"

"Perhaps," he said, nodding towards her. "I wouldn't know."

"Right, you are not an Olympian."

"Just so." He stepped away from the column, sat down next to her with some effort. He leaned his head back against the wall, groaned once more.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

He seemed very tired; his helm pressed onto his shoulders heavily. After a long moment, he answered, "Yes. In more ways than one. Hecate tells me I will heal soon, but I'm not so certain. Some wounds are too deep."

"Too deep?"

He nodded. "So deep they leave scars, or they never heal, and the wound remains in the flesh, festering, taking over, until one day that is all what one is: the wound, the hurt, and the regret from long ago…" He trailed off, tapping his thumb against the silver pommel of his sword. He seemed to become lost in his thoughts for several minutes, and his breathing rattled through his mask, strained and heavy. His mood had become very dark and she did not wish to upset him further, but his wheezing disturbed her. _No god should sound like that, let alone a lord_.

"Lord Ha—I mean, _Aidon_ , maybe you ought to remove your helm?"

He laughed, a genuine spark of mirth that shocked her and made her cheeks heat up, even as he pressed his hand against his stomach.

"I ought to, certainly, but Olympios is a pageant and one must keep up appearances."

"The Lord of the Dead must always present himself as terrifying and unflappable, is that it?"

"But of course! How else do you expect me to maintain my air of authority?"

"We are the only two people here, Aidon," she teased, surprising herself. _Teasing the Lord of the Underworld—I've lost my mind!_ she thought, her cheeks burning. Yet she continued, spurred on by curiosity: "I would keep your secret safe."

"Oh?" He leaned towards her, and she felt her breath catch. "Would you, now?"

His hand reached out to cup her face again, and he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He was so close, so real in front of her, and they were secluded. He could take advantage of her, hurt her, even, and face no punishment for it because of his relation to the King—yet she found that she did not fear him. Aside from Aphrodite, he was the first immortal to deign to speak to her with any sense of respect. She found him infuriating for reasons she could not place, and she _did_ fear his power over Death...but she did not fear him as a predator.

She wanted to see his face, she realized. Would he be handsome, like the Ocean Lord, or frightfully scarred and deformed from years of war, like Ares? _Would he try to kiss me?_ she wondered.

She knew how to kiss boys. She'd done it before numerous times, in secret corners of the forest, away from her mother's prying eyes. She kissed them and held them close, these young mortal lords who'd pledge their lives to her and her mother, defenders of Eleusis. She'd long ago decided that kissing an immortal lord couldn't be very different from kissing a mortal. The kisses she gave the young lords were courteous rewards for their loyalty, always shallow and chaste...but as she got older, and continued to kiss young men her secluded forest groves, a secret promise of something more always sparked deep inside her.

Would Aidon fulfill that promise, take the kiss farther here? After all, the immortals were known for their lustful appetites, and Kora was no fool. _Perhaps he brought me out here for that very purpose_. The thought both frightened and excited her; she wanted to gloat as much as she wanted to hide. _No one here will have me, Parthenos? The Unseen Lord of the Unseen Lands sits before me and he…  
And he what?_

"Yes, I would," she answered him, breathless. "And you do not intimidate me, Aidon, no matter how much you try to."

"Well now, we can't have that…"

They leaned closer together, their faces only inches apart. Desire pooled in her stomach, hot and persistent; she wanted to reach up, knock that ridiculous helm off his head, and press her lips against his. After the viciousness she had experienced today, she wanted to lose her mind in something else, with someone else.

"Kiss me," she commanded, startled by her own lust.

He sat back. "I beg your pardon?"

"Kiss me," she repeated, more forcefully. She brought her knees up beneath her, sat on her haunches so that she could be face-to-face with him. _Kiss me, you exasperating behemoth of a man!_

"Kiss you…" he echoed, amazed. Then he laughed, hearty and jovial. "I was under the impression that you barely tolerated me, and now here you are, demanding kisses from me. How quickly feelings change. Do you have any idea how old I am, girl?"

Now she laughed. "Positively ancient, _old man_."

He snorted, pretending to be scandalized. "Well now, not quite _that_ old—"

"You are not so old and I am not so young, Aidon," she said, reaching up to touch his chest. "And we are adults by both mortal and immortal reckoning, so I fail to see how it matters."

His hand wrapped over hers, held her close. "You are...full of surprises, Kora," he whispered. "What would your mother think of your forwardness?" Now _he_ was teasing _her_.

"My mother's not here." _I could do it now_ , she thought. _I could remove his helm_ _before he'd have a chance to react._ Yet that felt wrong. She wanted him to agree to it; she had no interest in violating his privacy. And certainly, since he wore his various helms among allies, and kept them on even as they ostensibly became uncomfortable, he must have had a good reason for doing so. She would not betray that trust.

"Kiss me, Aidon," she repeated. "Please."

He sighed, but she could hear from his tone that he was smiling at her request. "Very well, Kora, I shall kiss you. But you must promise to keep your eyes closed."

She giggled. "Are you secretly a Gorgon, Aidon?"

"Perhaps. All the more reason to keep your eyes closed."

She shut her eyes, heard the sound of metal crashing against the ground. Not a moment later, he pressed his lips against hers. Instinctively, Kora made to thread her hands into his hair, but he grabbed her wrists and placed her hands on his neck instead. She protested, but he was insistent about keeping her hands away from his head; he held her wrists firmly has he deepened the kiss, only letting her go when he was certain she would not reach for him again. Her breath hitched once more when she felt the strange sensation of his tongue slowly, almost gingerly, push past her lips. She reciprocated the cautious exploration, curious at the feel of him. His tongue moved in slow circle with hers, almost dancing together, and she mimicked his movements, causing him to groan and press himself closer to her body.

She could no longer pretend that their kiss was a chaste meeting of lips; no, now there were many kisses, feverish and insistent, on her neck and mouth. Each kiss left Kora's lips and skin tingling, wanting more. She moved to straddle him as his hands traveled down to her waist. She had him pinned to the bench now, and it brought her an immense feeling of power and pleasure to have the Lord of the Dead beneath her and at her mercy. At the thought, she felt something spark deep within her, an uncoiling desire from her dreams.

Unsure, but compelled by the heat she felt smoldering between her legs, she moved her hips in a rolling motion down against his, causing him to hiss and break the kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard, and she felt the jagged edges of a bone-like material scrape against her scalp. She wanted to touch his face then, to open her eyes and see the man who engendered fear in the hearts of so many. Instead, she kissed his neck, felt his pulse beat wildly there against her lips.

" _Kora_ —"

Unable to stop herself, she ground her hips against him again, compelled once more by the heat that spread from low in her belly.

He cursed, pressed his face into the hollow of her neck, and trembled with crumbling restraint. Her fingers trailed lightly down the back of his neck. He inhaled deeply and shuddered.

"Fuck it," he growled, and suddenly she found her legs hitched up near his groin, her silk skirt spread indecently open. Fear abruptly gripped her and she began to squirm, but that only seemed to encourage him. _Did you not want this?_ she chided herself. His body was warm and solid beneath her. She wanted this; she knew that she wanted this.

But things were moving too fast now, and she was still very inexperienced, and what if someone were to walk in on them, and what would her mother think—all fears that she ignored earlier, crashing down on her all at once. Now his own hips ground against hers, and through the thick material of his breeches, she could feel something firm. He planted hot, open mouthed kisses on her neck and against her mouth. With one hand supporting her waist, he reached his other hand underneath her dress to cup her breasts. Despite her fear, she moaned and ground herself against his moving hips once more, earning another hiss from him in return.

"You want this," he breathed against her skin, sending shivers through her body. "You really want this." He said his words with the slight lilt of a question, revealing a quiet astonishment.

"Yes, Aidon." She was afraid, but she felt intoxicated by his smokey scent and the feel of his strong arms around her. "I do. Please—"

"Please what?" he asked in between kisses on her neck. His warm breath puffed against her skin as he inhaled the fresh smell of lavender in her hair. "Anything you want, anything."

"Please," she sighed as he massaged her breasts. She felt as if she were melting in his arms; her insides were becoming molten liquid. He hummed at the soft sounds she made, at ease and languid.

"Tell me, Kora," he said, his lips pressing against her jaw. His hands moved from her breasts back down to her stomach and hips. His voice was raw, his breathing heavy from desire and not pain. He seemed to be losing himself, just like her; any facade of calm and collected control he had built up over the years burned away as she picked him apart, piece by piece.

"Please..." she had to take a deep breath. _Please what?_ Kora felt overheated and lightheaded; this was all too much. "St-st-stop."

Aidon froze. "What?"

"Stop," she repeated, louder. And he did, removed her from his lap, and stood. She heard him pick up his helm and place it back on his head.

"That went too far," Aidon said. He cleared his throat, shuffled on his feet awkwardly. "My apologies, Kora. You requested only a kiss. I've had a great deal on my mind lately; I wasn't thinking clearly."

She reached out to him, but he stepped back, wary of further contact. Absently, Kora noted the moist feeling in the seat of her smallclothes, and the intermittent throbbing between her legs.

"It's okay," she said, lamely. She could see him building up walls even as she fought to tear them back down. "I'm the one who pushed you for more."

"You are inexperienced. I should've known better."

Now she became annoyed. "Don't patronize me, Aidon."

"I'm not—"

"You are! I am not a child, Aidon, do not speak to me as one!"

"Peace, woman!" He threw up his hands in an effort to placate her. She was having none of it. "Peace!"

"Stars above, you are _infuriating_!"

"Lord Hades, there you are! I've been looking all over for you…"

They both looked up and saw the Messenger hovering before them. He was younger than Kora but still older than Apollo, and his hair and eyes were a rich brown. His gaze darted back and forth between her—her clothes disheveled, her lipstick smudged—and Aidon, and a look of amazement and excitement dawned across his face.

" _You_? With _her_?"

"Out with it, Hermes," Aidon snapped.

"O ho ho, all of Olympios will sing about this day for years to come! I can't believe it, the inexorable Lord of the Dead, and the young, innocent daughter of Demeter, caught together post-coitus, and at the Hellenic Ball, no less! This is too _good,_ too, too good—"

" _Hermes!_ " Aidon shouted, and the sound was enormous and deep; it was the sound of breaking earth. "There was no coitus, you simpering fool!"

Kora bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She could have never before pictured the Master of Death shouting something so ridiculous and silly as what he just shouted, and in such a serious manner, too—and yet here they were.

Hermes ducked like Aidon had thrown something at him, and spat out his information in quick succession thereafter, a shivering mess of a young man. "Yes, my lord, of course my lord. The King has arrived and is ready to see you now, my lord."

"Very well," Aidon said. "Open the aether gate. I'm having trouble walking without a limp and I don't need your brother trying to challenge me to another duel in this state."

"Yes my lord, of course my lord." Hermes spread his hands, and before them appeared a glowing archway, crackling with lightning and thunder. Aidon made to step through before pausing to turn back to Kora.

"We will meet again, soon," he said. "Do not let Athena get to you; she is a brilliant woman, but war has made her hard. Your spirit is strong and fiery. Keep it that way; I like that about you. And Hermes—"

"Y-y-yes, my lord?"

"Speak of what you have seen here to absolutely no one."

"B-b-b-but m-m-my lord, I'm the Messenger! To not speak of this would be to go against my very nature—"

" _Hermes._ "

"Yes, my lord, of course my lord. Mum's the word, my lord, I swear it to the stars."

"Good," Aidon said, sounding very pleased with himself. He nodded at Kora, said, "Until next time," and stepped through the aether gate, with Hermes in tow.

"Until next time," Kora echoed. Anger, sadness, and desire roiled through her, a boiling stew of bewilderment and hurt. She had never felt so lost and alone in her life.


	7. Chapter 6: Philadelphia

"Are you sure about this?"

 _No_ , Aidon wanted to say. He had never been more uncertain of anything in his life. Yet the words of his brother, his King, compelled him. "I'm certain, Hecate. Open the Gates."

Aidon gripped the leather of his horses' reins tightly. He thought of the picture he made, dressed in full campaign raiment, astride his great silver chariot, with the noblest and fiercest of his horses, the sons of Bergeros, carrying him forward. He would frighten her, he knew.

"There are other ways, my lord."

"No, Hecate," he said, sighing. "There are no other ways." Slowly before him, the Gates of Hades opened to the aether. What lay beyond? Hellas, in all her wartorn glory, and the province of Eleusis. The horses snorted and stomped their hooves.

"If you take her like this, she will hate you, my lord."

"I know." Before him, bolts of lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Dark purple clouds swirled together in red mists. Aidon hated such portals; they pulled him through harshly, vacuums of time and space, and he felt his body break down cell by cell, molecule by molecule, until he became reconstituted at the other end, with his knees unstrung and wobbly as if he'd just fought in battle. The more years he spent in the Underworld, the more difficult traveling through the Gates became, though neither Bergeros nor his sons ever seemed to mind.

"Zeus is being unrighteously cruel to the both of you."

Aidon's thoughts drifted back to his brother, who kept his personal chambers fairly sparse and unadorned, though warm comfortable. On a plush chair he sat, bouncing the young boy Apollo on his knee. The lad had the stormy gray eyes of his father, and a mane of midnight-black hair, courtesy of his mother, Leto. His childish laughter tugged on something inside Aidon, a dam that he had hastily built up prior to attending this year's Hellenic Ball. The boy stopped laughing when he spotted Aidon, his dark skin turning a pale white, though the strange feeling of grief still threatened to consume Aidon regardless.

"You're late," his brother said gruffly.

"My apologies, Your Grace, I became rather...preoccupied." Aidon smiled despite himself. The soft lips of his betrothed, the sweet lavender scent of her hair, a reflection of her true essence—the fresh memories calmed him, even as his mind swirled with clouds of despair.

"I've never known you to be late, Aidon. I hope your preoccupation was worth wasting my time." Zeus put the child down, motioned for him to leave, though the boy stayed rooted in place. "What's this now, Apollo?"

"I am frightened, Father."

Zeus raised his brow, then laughed and rubbed Apollo's head good naturedly. "Do not be frightened, son, he is only your uncle."

Again, Aidon's self composure threatened to break. _This is what true pain is_ , he realized. The scars he saw on myriad shades came not from physical lacerations or wounds, but from the soul-tearing pain of losing a loved one. Zeus had fathered several half-mortals, and briefly Aidon wondered if his brother had ever felt this grief, this heavy burden that Fortune saw fit to place on his shoulders.

"My uncle is frightening, Father."

"Do not be so timid, Apollo—" Zeus was beginning to sound agitated, and even with his poor vision, Aidon could see dark circles of exhaustion under his brother's usually bright eyes.

"Hephaestus tells me that you are talented with a bow, young master," Aidon said, in an effort to break the tension.

" _Unusually_ talented, m-m-my lord," Hermes broke in, nervous and fearful. Aidon had almost forgotten the youth was there, so quiet he had been in the moments after the two had left Kora in the gardens. _Kora_ …

Aidon wanted to keep his thoughts on her; her fiery spirit, her forwardness; she would anchor him, keep him from getting lost in the dark abyss of his own thoughts. _Kora._

The boy looked down, his cheeks turning a bright red. "Not as good as Artemis," he said, retreating into himself.

"Artemis is the hunter, as Leto tells it," Zeus chimed in, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Apollo is the archer."

"Apollo, Far Striker," Aidon finished, smiling. The boy looked up, less timid than before, and in him Aidon saw the great strength and nobility of his father. _He could make a great king one day_ , Aidon thought. But he also knew that Zeus would never abdicate the throne, let alone abdicate the throne to a bastard, no matter how noble. That Ares was the heir apparent and Crown Prince was of little consequence; Zeus would hold onto power until chaos or conquest destroyed Hellas and her worshippers.

"Far Striker indeed," Zeus said, his tone turning from one of agitation to one of pride. "Little Far Striker, go play with your sister—nicely—and don't come back until you're told. I'll have a present for the both of you. Hermes, make sure your brother doesn't get lost."

"Yes, Father," Hermes answered, sheepishly. Aidon could smell fear still radiating off the youth, fear that Trico never displayed... _Enough, do not think of him. He is gone._

Hermes led Apollo away. As he neared the door, the boy threw a glance back at Aidon briefly, as if to say something, then shook his head and ran out of the room with a youthful exuberance that tore at Aidon's heart.

"You can remove that helm now," Zeus said, lounging back on his chair. He took a large draught of wine that stained his brown beard, wiped his lips with his forearm. Aidon wanted to laugh; his brother still knew very little in the way of table manners.

"Everyone wants me to remove my helm today. Is the mystery of my face really that irresistible?"

"Enough games. Do as I say, Aidon, or I'll have you striped." The threat was not serious. Though Aidon respected his brother's authority, he was a king in his own right, and Zeus knew better than to arrest and whip his own kin over something so petty.

"Very well, Your Grace. But I warn you now—you will not like what you see."

Zeus snorted, chortling and struggling to swallow another draught of wine. "You can't look any worse than my miserable blacksmith of son. Besides, you will soon become my son-in-law. As your soon-to-be-father-in-law, and as your King, I would look upon your face again. Come now, hurry up, I haven't got all day."

Aidon laughed, though he knew the sound was mirthless. For the second time that day, he removed his helm, letting it drop to the floor in a loud clatter of metal crashing against stone. Onward he stared, enduring his brother's intense scrutiny and silence. Finally, Zeus spoke, as if sensing Aidon's increasing distress at his lack of comment.

"It is not so bad," he said.

"Your long silence demonstrates to me otherwise, Zeus."

"Who am I kidding? I'll not spare your feelings any longer. You are one ugly son of a bitch, Aidon."

Now Aidon laughed, and this time it was a genuine, good natured chuckle. "That bad, eh?"

"Stars above, I can hardly believe you're my brother. That fucking Underworld has twisted you right up," Zeus continued, the gentle ribbing making Aidon's heart feel lighter by the minute. "You are lucky I've picked out a bride for you. I doubt any woman would have you otherwise."

"You'd be surprised," Aidon joked. "Women faint at the mere sight of me. Aphrodite has seen fit to bless me with an ethereal charm, it seems."

Zeus nearly fell out his chair in laughter. "Cut the horseshit, you're killing me, Aidon!"

"See now, even you swoon before me. Clearly, Your Grace, I wear my helm to keep my handsome face hidden; it is too noble to be looked upon for longer than a minute."

Zeus held his stomach, and kicked his feet up like a child, he was so overcome with laughter and mirth. "Stars above, I've missed you, Aidon, you old grizzled bastard you," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Take off your raiment and sit with me, let me see your wounds. Ganymede? Here, boy, help my brother remove his cuirass. There's a good lad."

"A new squire, Your Grace?"

Zeus chuckled. "You _would_ think that, wouldn't you?"

Slowly, the pieces of armor came off, and Aidon had to sit almost immediately; he could no longer stand without the cuirass holding him upright. Distantly, he heard his brother whistle in awe at the sight of his still-healing wound. "Ganymede, leave us. I trust you know to not repeat anything of what you've seen here today."

"Of course, Your Grace," the young man said, bowing low and quietly closing the great doors of oak behind him.

"What manner of beasts did this to you?" Zeus asked after they were alone, amazed.

"Creatures of the pit," Aidon answered, shutting his eyes tightly as Zeus applied an Olympian salve made of myrrh and ambrosia to his inflamed and ruined skin.

"Interesting. No wonder the wound is slow to heal, even with ambrosia…"

"If you think _I_ look bad, you should see _them_."

Zeus did not laugh but instead looked Aidon straight in the eyes, his stare the piercing gaze of a King among Kings. "What were you doing in that forsaken place?"

Aidon told him, careful to not make too much mention of Trico, though he suspected Zeus already had an inkling of the pain that held his spirit in chains.

"So you are requesting use of my army," Zeus said.

"And that of Poseidon's, though I will need your help to convince him."

"I see."

"Zeus, this is serious."

"I cannot spare my warriors, Aidon."

"A regiment of Amazons, Zeus, that is all I ask."

"A whole _regiment_ of my most elite warriors—a tall order, even for you, Aidon. You have a corps of soldiers; use it."

Trico's death flashed before Aidon's eyes, grisly and haunting, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from shedding tears.

"Stars above, Aidon, what is this shadow that has crossed your face?"

"You do not know the horrors of the pit, Zeus," Aidon answered, breathless. "The very ground writhes and gnaws at the flesh of a god and the daimon of a mortal; the sun sits in near-complete eclipse, creating a sky of shaded scarlet the same color of mortal blood...and, the closer one gets to the source of the expansion, the more dire and evil the place becomes.

"As I travel through my lands, I can hear the rumblings of the enemy's drums in my mind. They lie in wait, accumulating, calculating the perfect time to strike. I've placed two divisions of warriors along the borders of Chthonia, and the river of flames, Phlegethon, keeps all but the most foolish and hardy of shades from attempting to cross the the walls, and yet—"

"And yet you are possessed by phobos. I've not seen you like this in ages. What else happened there?"

Aidon bristled, gripping tightly onto his ever-fleeting self composure. "Phobos does not possess me, brother. I do not want my lands overrun by whatever ancient abominations make their homes in Tartarus. I do not know their number or when they will choose to strike. My subjects have already suffered in life; I would not see them suffer, too, in death."

"Brother, I see now that you will retreat into deflections. Physical pain is a rarity among us, though not unheard of. If you do not wish to speak of the other wound I see so plainly written about your features, then so be it. I cannot change my stance either way, so the point is moot.

"You speak of wanting to protect your subjects, so you must understand, Aidon, that my intention is to protect my subjects as well. As we speak, man-to-man, the gods of the eastern spheres play war games and make plans to march upon the halls in which we now sit."

 _War with the eastern lords?_ Ridiculous, although not unprecedented. As mortal empires and kingdoms rose and fell, so too did the immortal lords of those lands rise and fall. That would explain Zeus's apparent exhaustion. Still, something did not add up. Hecate traveled to the eastern spheres quite frequently as Aidon's emissary, bringing back gifts and news aplenty, and she had not made any mention of war rumblings.

"The eastern spheres are vast and numerous, Your Grace, you will have to be more specific," Aidon stated, not bothering to hide his confusion.

"Mazda."

"So now the god of Persia marches with his subjects. Fascinating that he would even bother dealing directly with you."

Zeus shrugged, though Aidon could tell it was from an effort to appear nonchalant, rather than a nonchalant gesture in it of itself. "He, like his subjects, sees Hellas as a fruit ripe for plucking. And why not? Each polis fights the other, razing their cities, destroying the flowers of their youth.

"The Argives fight the Phokians, the Phokians fight the Athenians, the Athenians fight the Spartans; they rape and pillage and enslave each other, leaving Hellas on the brink of total annihilation, at war with herself. Persia, in all her magnificent glory, stands ready to fill the void. I would not mind the stability the yoke of her people would bring, but—"

"You do not share power."

"You know the truth of my heart, Aidon."

"You give me too much credit, Your Grace."

Zeus smiled, though his expression revealed a deep sorrow. "So you see now, why I must keep my warriors here," he said, his voice low, almost ashamed. "I will not allow Mazda or his worshippers to march into Hellas, unabated. Even now, the great mortal emperor Darius marches ever westward, his vast and elite army desecrating the statues and temples of gods that will now be forced to reckon with all mortal afflictions, left without the worship of their subjects…" Zeus trailed off, his shoulders sagging heavily. "No, my dear brother, I cannot help you. And…there's something more you should know, to complete this order of bad news on a day of celebration."

Kora was the bad news; or, to be more precise, her mother, Demeter, was the bad news. In the days preceding the Ball, shortly after Aidon had returned from his excursion into Tartarus, Demeter had beheld him in a vision, a herald of decay and death. Of course, at this time Aidon had been recovering from his wounds, on the precipice of total oblivion and in and out of a state of fever and delirium; there was no way he could have visited Eleusis.

And yet, Demeter had seen him, a figure of darkness and foreboding underneath his helm, and she grew frightened for the fate of her daughter. At once, she called Zeus, invoking his name with such power that he could not ignore her plea, and he arrived at Eleusis in a crash, as if struck down by his own lightning bolt.

"Why have you called me here, Demeter?" he asked, annoyed and frustrated with the Lady of the Harvest. Mazda was gathering his forces at a rapid rate already, and Zeus had only begun to perceive the danger that now threatened the whole realm of Hellas.

"To see the monster our brother has become."

And so Zeus waited, the strength of Demeter's conviction overwhelming his own urgency to marshal his army, and indeed he too saw the vision of his brother in the form of darkness incarnate—and he too felt fear grip his heart. Yet Zeus knew this dark form was only a vision, for Hermes had brought several letters from the witch-titan Hecate, which described in full the current wounded state of his brother; and which stated that Aidon, now able to speak again, requested an audience with him at his earliest convenience, even at the Ball, if that happened to be the case.

Whatever vision he and his sister had seen, that was all it was—a vision. Perhaps a trick of the very enemy Zeus was attempting to defend against. Yet she would not see reason, and who could blame her? For Demeter's daughter was her life, the flower of her love and strength; moreover, she had not seen Aidon since the end of the Titan War, during the division of the greater spheres of Hellas amongst her brothers. She no longer knew him from Anubis or Baal or Mazda, and yet she had promised her daughter to him, a veritable stranger, as if the girl were an object. For all his might, Zeus could not calm his sister; phobos now possessed her spirit. She was a lioness in the midst of passion, defending her cub, and she would do anything to protect her child, even if that protection would be ultimately harmful.

So now this left Zeus in a predicament, because he was running out of the allotted days to keep the young maiden Kora at court. Demeter would not break the ancient laws that bound even the gods; Kora would be safe at Olympios, so long as she stayed. But Zeus feared for his daughter and her fast-approaching return to Eleusis, because there, Demeter could and would do any number of heinous acts in the name of protecting her child.

"What will she do?" Aidon asked, clearly disturbed at this turn of events.

"Truly, Aidon, I do not know. But you must act quickly, for our sister is not to be trifled with and the girl returns to her on the morrow."

"Will she not speak with me?"

"Unlikely, brother. She believes she has already spoken to you, and she has seen you as an alien; to her, you are no longer the brother that fought beside her valiantly in the War, but the dark lord of a dark realm. Changed and evil, as if you were the very embodiment of the Lords of Longing that the abominations of the pit worship."

Aidon shuddered. How could she think that? ...And yet, how could she not? After all, he had kept himself hidden from mortals, even those invited to Olympios. For all Demeter knew, Aidon was indeed the humorless king who ruled over a realm of sorrow with an iron fist, and he would make her daughter into such a creature as well. He understood her parental fears at once, even if he did not agree with them.

"I see," Aidon said, clenching his fists.

Zeus peered at him. "What do you plan to do?"

"With your blessing," Aidon said, standing and slowly replacing his cuirass, "I plan to take Kora to my realm and make her my wife."

"Of course you have my blessing, Aidon, but what will you do... after all that?" Zeus meant the pit.

"And after all that," Aidon said, belting his sword back onto his his hips, "we shall see, won't we?"

Lightning flashed before Aidon's eyes; he was brought back into the present. He took a deep breath, motioning his horses forward. "For once, this is not Zeus's fault. This is no one's fault. It is simply the universe, acting as it wills."

"I hope you are right, my lord," Hecate said, but her king was already gone, ripped through the Gates of Hades into the sphere of Hellas. "The drums of war beat above and below us," she finished.


	8. Chapter 7: The Kidnapping

Chapter 7: The Kidnapping

The breaths came out shallow. In, out, in, out. Panicked, even in sleep. A gentle knocking thundered in her mind and pulled her from her troubled slumber. A warm, golden light slowly began to fill the chamber, illuminating the elegant carvings etched in its walls: the creation of the cosmos and the world. Again the knocking came, followed by his voice calling for her.

"Kora. Kora, please—"

"Go away!"

She hugged her knees to her chest, shut her eyes tightly. Ash still coated her skin, and the smell of steel and smoke enveloped her. Her wool dress irritated and chafed, and barely covered her body anymore. Her legs throbbed in a constant, dull pain. She wanted desperately to bathe, to eat, to see her mother again—

 _No_ , she remembered. No, she did not want that.

Outside the door she heard a heavy sigh, a shuffling of fabric, and retreating footsteps. Her captor gone, she could sleep once more, fall back into sweet oblivion. Yet she did not want to sleep, because in her dreams she saw him: imposing, inscrutable, inescapable.

 _I hate him_ , she thought, balling her hands into white-knuckled fists. Around her, the room groaned and shook. Hot tears formed at the edges of her eyes and began to spill out, unabated.

At once she was asleep again, and her in her dreams she stumbled from nightmare to nightmare.

Hands in her hair, pulling gently on loose strands. The sunlight dripping lazily over her skin like honey, the smell of blossoming flowers in the air. Home, she was home. She shut her eyes.

 _Let me stay here, in this moment_.

"You're so quiet, my lady."

"Stop that," Kora sighed.

"Stop what, my lady?"

"Calling me that."

"Calling you what, my lady?"

"That, exactly that: my lady. Stop it."

"Would you prefer it if I call you "Princess"?"

"Disgusting," Kora said, scrunching her nose. "Even worse."

Her best friend, Cassandra, laughed, and continued her work braiding Kora's hair.

"Forgive me, Kora, it's just not every day I get to play handmaiden to _divine_ _royalty_."

"Believe me," Kora said, observing blades of grass gently swaying, "being divine royalty is not all it's cracked up to be."

Cassandra scoffed. "Really now, Kora, how bad could it be?"

Kora looked down, saw an ant crawl over the top of her foot.

"Bad," she answered simply, picking the small creature up. She let it run across her fingers.

"Fine, fine, fine. I suppose it must be. Your mood since returning has been awful."

That was true. Since she had returned from Olympios, Kora had been feeling downright miserable—and the fact that her mother treated her coldly, like she was now somehow diseased, certainly did not help.

"I don't think I'm ever going back," Kora mused.

"...Really?" Cassandra asked, incredulous.

"Really."

"Can you do that, as a Princess? What about, well, you know—"

"What about what, my friend?"

"Well…"

"Stars above, spit it out."

"Marriage, Kora! I doubt the King would allow you stay unmarried…"

She shrugged, winced as Cassandra pulled too hard on a strand of hair. "The Weaver isn't married."

"That's because she's a catty shre—"

"Shhh!"

"Well, she is! Did you hear about what she did to that poor girl who dared— _dared_ —to challenge her to a weaving contest? Turned her into a horrible eight-legged insect with fangs, that's what. With _fangs_ , Kora!"

"I know. That's why you don't need to be heard insulting her. Remember that only us gods and goddesses are allowed to be prideful. It's a sin for you humans."

Cassandra stopped brushing Kora's hair, moved to sit in front of her, and stared. Brown, bright eyes bore into Kora's own. They sat in silence for several minutes, until finally Cassandra's lip curled up slightly. Soon she burst out laughing, and so too did Kora, and their shared mirth felt as warm and comforting as the rays of the setting sun on their skin.

"There's my friend," Cassandra said, smiling brightly at her. "There's the Lady of Flowers we all know and adore."

Kora smiled back. Having a friendship with a human—or multiple humans, in truth—was generally frowned upon by the Lords and Ladies of Olympios. The argument went that such friendships would create a sense of familiarity and entitlement between the rulers and their subjects, and the King was not one for having his authority challenged in any way. Yet she and her mother had always maintained a close relationship with their human subjects.

They did not live in a palace, but rather a small hut that even the poorest peasant could call home. Mother and daughter tilled the land together with the humans; and, though the region was not especially rich in gold and silver, food was abundant and the people were healthy. And besides, both the gods and goddesses had their fair share of liaisons with humans and innumerable resulting bastards; in Kora's mind, friendship should not have been the fear.

"There's that look again. What has you so upset, Kora?"

"I'm not upset."

"Kora."

"I'm not!"

"You may be able to fool yourself, _my lady_ , but you can't fool me. Rarely have I seen you look so sad. What happened on Olympios?"

 _Where to begin?_ Kora thought. The jeers of the gods, the verbal lashings of Athena, the secret kisses she shared…and the way he left her feeling confused and angry.

She settled for telling Cassandra the story only in the vaguest of terms.

"I _told_ you she was a shrew!"

"Shhh, keep your voice down, Cassandra! She could be listening."

"I can't believe she'd be so cruel to you. You are her sister!"

"But I'm bastard, as she so helpfully would remind me every chance she got."

"So? Do you think the Great King would ever abdicate to her even if she were the only heir?"

"Of course not. Man plans and the gods laugh; gods plan and Fortune laughs. She will never be Queen. But she has her reasons for being cruel. War has made her hard. At least, that's what he told me."

A wry smile pulled at Cassandra's lips. "I think she's jealous of you and your mystery man."

Kora blushed. "She has no idea about him. You're the only one I've told."

"Not even your mother?"

"She'd skin me alive."

"Kora, I'm _scandalized_. Now I know what's turned you so sour. I'd be in a foul mood too, keeping a secret like that from my mother."

Kora laughed, though the sound was not light and airy. She felt heavy. "You speak the truth. My mother has been... _cold_ , since my return yesterday evening. It's like she could sense that, I don't know, sense that—"

"That you are no longer her sacred virgin?"

" _Cassandra! No!_ I _told_ you we didn't get that far."

"You know your secret is safe with me, right?"

"Stars above."

"I wonder what it's like to be taken by a god… Oh, the sounds I'd make! Yes, _ravage me, my lord_!" Cassandra fell onto her back, laughing and arching her pelvis into the air exaggeratedly.

" _Cassandra, knock it off._ "

"Take me, Lord Whoever. Oh yes, there, there!"

"Stars above, Cassandra, I will smite you."

Cassandra sat up laughing, with tears in her eyes and a wide smile on her face. "She really doesn't know?"

"No, she doesn't."

"I don't envy your having to tell her."

"She will never know, unless your ox braying just now tipped her off."

"Hey now, men appreciate some noise in the throes of lovemaking. Who was he, anyway?"

Kora sighed, deeply. She leaned forward to lie down on her stomach, rested her hands beneath her chin.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Cassandra. And if you did believe me...I fear you'd think of me differently."

"Kora, Kora, Kora. You can't just say something like that—now you obviously _have_ to tell me who he was, or do you wish me to die from the suspense?"

Kora smiled. Before her, a small weed had begun to sprout slowly; she watched it with earnest attention.

"No dying today. I'll give you three chances to guess."

"The War Dog."

"Stars above—no. No. Absolutely not. Now I have that image in my mind, and I blame you."

"Must be a nice image. He seems quite handsome. Well, from the sculptures, anyway."

"No. And he's not. Guess again."

"The Ocean Lord."

"No. One more try." The weed was growing larger now, and at a faster rate. Kora raised an eyebrow. _Curious._

"Stars, I don't know, Kora! Tell me!"

"One more guess. That's all you have."

"Fine, fine, fine. The Messenger."

"Good guess."

"But...wrong?"

"Of course."

" _Tell me!_ "

In the distance, Kora could hear her mother calling her name. She shut her eyes, grit her teeth.

"Kora?"

"Something is different about her," Kora suddenly said, her words a torrent, leaving her breathless. "When I came home, still in my silk dress and makeup, gifts from the Lady of Love and Beauty herself, Mother had me remove the dress and throw it into our fire pit. She had me spin a new dress from wool and use what remained of my silk dress to wipe my face of makeup. It's like she thinks I've become a completely different person—as though she must purge me of the influence of Olympios. She's...frightened. She looks at me, and there is only hatred in her eyes. I've never seen her like this before, Cassandra."

Cassandra placed her hand on Kora's back, began rubbing in small circles. Demeter's call came once again, even more insistent than the last.

"Kora...forgive me, but...If your mother is frightened, maybe we should go to the village ealdorman? For the safety of the people."

"No. No, there's no need to worry about that. Mother wouldn't hurt the people of Eleusis, and least of all the people of this village. You know that. Her problem is with me. I've...I've _upset_ her, somehow."

Before her, the weed now began to flower: a solitary white narcissus plant in full bloom. _What's this?_ She stood, moved to get a closer look.

"Did you see how quickly that flower bloomed?"

"What? No? I mean, is that strange? You _are_ the Lady of Flowers, Kora."

"No, but _I_ didn't make it bloom. It just...sprouted there, and grew, and bloomed, within the last few minutes."

"I think you need to rest, Kora."

Kora sighed, pulled the flower roughly from the ground. "This flower, right here. See this? Narcissus flowers don't just sprout from the soil here. I know about all the seeds that the animals and wind carry to this hamlet. I can...I can _sense_ them. If a narcissus seed had been planted here, I would've known. This is not a natural flower." She suddenly dropped the blossom, felt a cold feeling of panic begin to rise in her chest. "It—it shouldn't be here. It's _wrong_."

"Kora, you are a _goddess_ —a creator of miracles! Don't be upset over seeing a new plant, of all things."

"Cassandra, you don't understand—"

" _Why didn't you come when I called for you?_ "

Her mother's voice was hard, calculating. Cruel.

"Mother, I'm sorry. I was just on my way."

"Don't lie to me, child."

"My lady, it is my fault. I wasn't finished with brushing her hair and—"

"This matter does not concern you, _human_."

"Mother, what is the matter?"

"The matter is that you did not come when I called for you. Now come." Her mother grabbed her wrist violently.

"Mother, why are you being this way?"

"We have very little time, daughter. I can already sense him."

"What? Sense who?"

"I cannot answer your questions, Kora. I am doing this to keep you safe. Drink this now."

She pushed a cup of dark liquid to Kora's lips.

"What is _that_?" Kora grimaced at the smell. _Rotten and dying._

"There is no time. He is close. Drink it now."

"No. Let me go. You're _hurting_ me. _You're hurting me! Moth—_ "

Her mother pushed the liquid past her lips, forced her to drink the foul draught. As soon as the liquid hit her stomach, Kora dropped to her knees and retched.

"There," Demeter said, her eyes crazed. "It is done. He can't have you now."

"My lady Demeter, what have you—"

" _Silence_ , human!"

From the ground came stalks of grain, fierce and sharp like daggers, and they pierced through Cassandra's feet and the back of her calves, tearing asunder the tendons, paralyzing her.

"Cassandra!" Kora shouted. Nauseous and in pain, she crawled to her friend. Inside, she felt as though she were on fire.

"Kora, I can't move—"

"You're okay. It'll be all right. I'm here."

From behind, Kora could hear her mother whispering to herself.

"He is here."

"Who i-i-is she t-t-t-talking about K-k-k-kora?" Cassandra was shaking from pain.

"I don't know."

" _Come and just try to take her, you blackhearted coward!_ "

The air grew incredibly still, such that only their breathing could be heard.

" _Come now, brother. Come and claim your bride, if you dare! These are my lands, and in my lands, I am the one with power!_ "

 _Phobos._ Kora felt it everywhere. It poured from her mother; she overflowed with it. Phobos now possessed her mother, and Kora began to feel its cruel grip on her own heart. _Stay calm._

"Kora, your—your _legs. Oh gods."_

First came the chill. The surrounding icy air bit at her skin and burrowed down into her flesh. She had never felt such cold before. Their breath came out as clouds of white; frost began to coat the ground, killing every blade of grass or flower in its wake.

Then came the shaking; the earth beneath her feet rumbled with primordial power until, in the distance before her, she saw _it:_ a fissure splitting the ground open. Ghastly and monstrous, stones screamed as they broke apart, shear and deafening. She could taste metal and smell smoke. The Earth had a new open wound, and was now bleeding molten rock and ash.

From behind, Kora heard her mother shout—but she paid her no heed, for out of the fissure came four great black stallions and their master.

 _Aidoneus._

Black smoke poured forth from the fissure, and soon the great chariot came barreling towards them, raging and unstoppable. The dark king drew his blade, Stygian black steel, and the trees of the glade began to freeze and decay in equal measure.

Kora's mother continued to shout, to wail, in a language Kora had never heard before and did not understand—and onward the Lord of the Dead came, dauntless.

"Kora, run!" Cassandra's feeble voice pierced through the noise around her. "Go!"

"No. I'm not leaving without you," Kora said, defiant.

"My lady, you must!"

Kora's breathing had turned shallow. Pain searing like fire tore through her feet, her mother's spell slowly taking its effect. Every vein began to pop out of her skin, spewing red and gold, before turning into the small capillary roots of a tree. The tendons broke through the bottoms of her heels and pressed into the earth, bloody and enriching. The surface of her skin began to split and turn rough and hard, like tree bark.

She couldn't leave, even if she wanted to—and neither could Cassandra.

"You are too late, Hades!" her mother screamed, causing the already-dying trees of the glade to break and fall in her fury. Wind howled, spinning into twisters of fury around them. "The transformation has already begun. Even now, she becomes one with the soil."

" _Let her go, Demeter._ "

Calm. He sounded so calm, so cool and collected. His deep voice settled her, even as she continued to change.

"She was mine to bring into the world, and she is _mine_ to destroy!"

The Lady of the Harvest sent out a volley of grain stalks, sharp as swords, hurtling towards the dark king. A horse shrieked in pain, and for a breathless moment, it looked as if the Lord of the Dead would be thrown from his chariot—but that would not be, for Hades calmed the animal, and sent the flying grain stalks hurtling back towards Demeter. Now wreathed in the black flames of the Underworld, the stalks pierced the protective shield of wind Demeter had created for herself, and struck her true in the arm.

In that moment, Kora felt her mother's spell break; felt her changing flesh begin to shift back into what it once was...but painfully, so very painfully. Beside her, she heard Cassandra laboring for air; the girl had been struck through the neck with one of the grain stalks. _No. Stars above, no. Please. Not her._

Red blood poured from the girl's throat, vibrant and gushing. She mouthed words, but only managed to gurgle sounds. Kora grabbed her hand, felt that her pulse was weak.

"Shhhhh, don't speak. You're okay. You're okay, Cassandra."

More gurgling, a further weakening of the pulse. Loose fingers; then, no grip at all.

Horrified, Kora watched as the light disappeared from her friend's bright eyes, felt the frigid chill of Death brush past her skin.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no—"

Kora held Cassandra's limp body against her, hoping that somehow her influence as a Daughter of Zeus would force Death to return her friend's soul. Inside her heart, she could hear Death's obstinate refusal, unyielding as the master it served. Inside her heart, she cursed both Death and its lord-king.

A loud crack split inside her ears, the sound of her mother's unwavering will fighting against the unrelenting will of Hades.

The sound of rage: roaring, ear-piercing, thunderous.

Kora wanted to scream; she wanted to run; she wanted to carry Cassandra away and lay her to rest.

 _I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here._

But she could do none of these things...for she was soon lifted from the ground, roughly and painfully. Around her waist, a strong grip pressed her close to an armor breastplate. She did not look at him; she knew that he did not bring Cassandra. She did not want him to bring _her,_ either; she not want him to pull her from her home, yet she did not resist him. This was not home anymore.

The pain in her legs kept Kora paralyzed. She did not want to fight him; she wanted to die.

The pain and fear of her mother made Kora press her face to his chest. She did not want to fight him; she wanted to mourn.

She smelled blood and heard her mother wailing; howling, a storm of rage and fury. She heard the sound of something piercing armor and then flesh, felt herself almost being dropped, and knew then that her mother had succeeded in wounding her captor.

"Cassandra," she whispered, heard a rough, noncommittal grunt of apology in return.

 _I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here._

"Go back for her."

"I can't, Kora."

They had entered the fissure now; she could tell they were near the portal.

" _Go back for her!"_

" _No."_

The sound came again, a sharp _twack_ , and he cursed softly, almost losing his grip on the reigns of his chariot. He threw her over his shoulder now, and she could see the two stalks that had pierced through his armor. The wounds looked deep. _He left her._ She pounded on each stalk, pushing them further into his flesh. _He left Cassandra there to rot, like she was nothing._

" _Ow!_ Hey, what the _fuck_ are you doing?"

"You left her."

" _Stop_ —"

She wanted to hurt him—and she did, for as they traveled through the portal, he lost his balance, and crashed the chariot.

"Close the gate, close the gate!"

"My lord, are you all right?"

"Lady Kora, is she—"

"What happened?"

"Check on the lady!"

"My lord, you're wounded!"

"Has Demeter gone _insane_?"

Sounds of palace staff rushed passed her ears. Different voices all around her. She felt dizzy.

"My lady, can you stand? Your legs..." A woman's voice.

" _Where is he?_ " Kora stood, anger pushing her forward.

The woman pointed, and sure enough there he was, standing a good three heads taller than everyone else, even hunched over in pain. And still with his stupid, ridiculous helm on.

She marched over to him, pushing past concerned servants.

"Ah, there she is. Do you feel better after making us crash?" He sounded annoyed and...exhausted. _How dare he? Bastard._

"Take off your helm."

"Excuse me?" He stepped back, stunned.

"You heard me, Lord Hades. Take off your helm."

"So we're back to _that_ now?"

Around them, she could feel the servants staring. She didn't care.

"Do it."

He sighed and then slowly—heavily—removed his helm, let it fall to the ground. Kora's eyes grew wide.

His hair was ash-white, and closely-cropped. He kept no beard, though she could see the beginnings of stubble; he clearly hadn't shaved recently. His jaw was square and sharp, his nose well-made and befitting of a god. Handsome, of course. And yet, from his forehead sprouted two black horns, and the right one was a broken ruin. Indeed, the skin at the base of the horn looked red and angry—split and sore, the cause of unending headaches. And he had one good eye, its color that of a burning blue flame; the other was white and clouded over, blind. A deep scar ran from his broken horn down his forehead, through this ruined eye, and down his cheek, all the way past his clavicle. Part of his right ear was missing, either bitten off or sliced off in battle. He could have been the God of War.

He looked at her expectantly, as if asking her _Is this what you wanted to see?_

"Well, what now?"

"Now this," Kora said, and she reached up and slapped him; slapped him with all the strength she had. The sound could be heard all throughout the palace. The servants stood silent, in complete shock at the sight of their king being slapped, and being slapped _hard._ Her hand broke upon the contact, but she didn't care; at least she had left a mark on his skin.

"Stars, what was _that_ for?"

"You left my friend there to rot."

"...Kora, I'm sorr— _Kora_!"

It was too late; she was falling, falling, falling. The transformation had begun again. He caught her, held her to him. The last thing she saw before fading into oblivion was his face: his stupid, horrible, ruined face, looking down at her with concern.

"I hate you," she whispered, so low that only he could hear.

"I know."


	9. Chapter 8: The Dreaming

Aidon shut his eyes. The muscles in his abdomen spasmed painfully every time his fingers grazed his wounds. He clenched his jaw, stared with purposeful focus into the mirror. The sharp ends of Demeter's horrid weapons had pushed from his back out through his stomach. She really had tried to kill him.

He grabbed one end, felt nausea ripple through him, and cursed.

"Sire, if I may…"

"You may not, Xeo," he ground out. Stars, he was sweating. He'd been such a fool to challenge her in her own domain. He shook his head. _Nothing to be done about that_ , he thought. The girl needed protection. Had he arrived any later, she likely would be completely one with the forests. He winced. _She may still become so, even now_.

"My lord, it just seems that—"

He threw the young man a glare, and that was enough to quiet the spirited shade. He clenched his jaw again, grabbed the end of a stalk, bit back his nausea, and pulled. The stalk ripped through him, tearing his flesh further apart. In his mind, he saw scenes of battle from the old war, and his legs began to shake. He braced himself against the wall, ichor staining his hand while the other held his abdomen.

"One," he muttered to himself, breathing heavily. "Now for the other." He steeled himself, pulled again.

When it was done, the shade handed him a thread and needle, held the stalks that had wounded his master. A god striking another god in hatred was a grievous affair, and he had yet to heal completely from his time in the pit. Aidon had tried to let the wounds heal on their own, but it was apparent to him now that he would need to treat them somehow, like in the days of the war. Even with treatment, the wounds would heal slowly; days, weeks perhaps. His cheek still smarted from Kora's slap.

 _Fates,_ she was strong. Even weakened by her mother's horrid curse, she managed to strike him so forcefully as to send him reeling backward. That was the second time he had lost his balance because of her in a matter of minutes. Such audacity! To strike a god, a king, in his own realm! _Wicked girl._ To think, he had said she was not a good match. What a fool he had been. She was a wild little thing, and he would have to be careful around her, lest she slit his throat herself.

He smiled, wanting to laugh at the irony. He remembered the way she asked him—no, _demanded—_ that he kiss her. The way she sat on his lap, pinning him most indecently against the wall. _Pinned him_ , a king; _mounted_ him, ground her heat against him, exerted power over him like there weren't... _rules_ , against such things. And, damn his pride, he enjoyed all of it, hadn't he? Oh yes, yes he had. He was intoxicated by her smell, her true scent of lavender and vines—her scent of Life, personified—and not the horrid animal stench Demeter had apparently forced upon her. Her willingness to close her eyes for him, to trust him, utterly fearless. Wild, wild woman.

He enjoyed the way she wanted to touch him, though his own fear made him keep her hands in one place. She was so willing, so brazen and bold—and when was the last time a woman showed him any interest like that? Centuries, at the very least. Besides, every single one soon lost interest as soon as they'd found out who he was, and who could blame them?

 _Not her_ , he thought, wickedly. _Dangerous woman_.

He'd grown old since those days, beyond the heady lusts of youth, and even in his most carnal moments, a woman spurning him had not hurt.

Much.

But she did not spurn him, this little wanton, fierce creature of forests and vines. She wanted him, and in her want, filled him with a exhilarating desire for her.

Now he had her, and she hated him, and rightfully too. And he'd be lying if he didn't say the shock on her face when she saw him, cowless, hadn't stung. The gods were a shallow and fickle lot, and ugliness was anathema to their kind. Just his Fortune that she'd demanded to see his face, just like she demanded everything else from him—and he gave into her, and cursed himself for losing his mind so easily over a woman. So now she had seen him, in all his gnarled glory, and she surely hated that too. He felt an uncharacteristic ache in his chest.

She had still not come out of her quarters, and he was beginning to worry. Was she still turning into a tree? Demeter's powers were potent and cruel, even in his domain. Leaving Kora alone much longer would not do. _Women need other women_ , he thought, sighing. She certainly wanted nothing to do with him. _Perhaps Hecate would be willing to talk to her_ …

Or perhaps he could find the shade of the woman she cared so deeply about. He mulled the thought over. Seeing her friend as a shade would likely just upset her more, and yet—

 _Worth the effort_ , he decided, nodding to himself.

With trembling fingers, he threaded the needle. He was sitting now, his shaking legs no longer able to hold him upright. He sucked in a sharp breath as he pierced his own skin, began the work to sew his wounds shut.

"Lord Aidoneus, is it impossible for you to accept assistance from your servants?"

Hot anger surged through his veins at the shade's impetuousness, but he held his breath, let the anger subside. He was careful not to touch the piercing he received in the pit, for that was the work of a dark power more potent and ancient than even his father. Heat radiated from it, even now, as if it were fresh. As long as the wound did not begin to fester, he would ignore it; just as he would ignore his anger and the grief that still tugged at him, and the growing ache in his heart. Zeus and Poseidon could afford to give into their passions, to stew in their petty grudges; Hera too, and Demeter apparently as well. The Underworld would not abide a ruler who could not master himself.

"You _are_ assisting me, Xeo," he said, a hard edge to his voice. Inwardly, he winced. He had sounded so much like his father just then. _Calm yourself._

"Assistance from the doctors, I mean. You are King, Your Grace. A King need not rely on his own hands for medical care."

Aidon sighed, shaky and exhausted. "Do you know why I picked you to be my squire, Xeo?"

The shade gulped, betraying the fear he felt. "No, Your Grace."

"I saw your heart," Aidon said, biting back a curse. He would need to talk to Zeus; Demeter needed to be held accountable for this. She had seriously wounded him. He shuddered, piercing the needle again through his flesh. _Later_ , he thought.

"Your Grace?"

"I saw your heart," Aidon continued. "I saw that you had been Trico's lover. I saw the pain you felt when he fell in battle in front of you."

The shade tilted his head, bemused.

"Trico, Your Grace?"

Aidon cursed himself. _Idiot_. Of course the boy would not know Trico by that name.

"Astur," he said, simply.

"Oh," the shade said, and Aidon thought that if the boy still had a body of flesh and blood, he would be blushing. "Am I—am I to be your lover, Your Grace?"

" _What?_ No." Aidon bristled, stopped his work on his stitching. "What kind of cad do you take me for, boy?"

The shade's eyes grew wide, alarmed. "N-none, Your Grace. It is well known that the Unseen King dwells alone and—"

"So the mortals now believe I _rape the souls of the dead_ , is that it?"

"No, Your Grace, not at all—"

Aidon was furious, seething will barely-controlled rage. He had not felt such anger in many years, and its potency startled him. The events of the last few weeks had frayed his nerves badly.

 _Calm yourself_.

"Stop flapping your tongue before I send you to the pit, boy. I do not take my subjects as lovers. You knew Astur in life. In death, he was my squire, my most trusted assistant. His spirit burned brightly, too brightly to rest here. He often challenged me, and I accepted it, because that was who he was; I admired his strength of will. When I saw him in your heart, in that final embrace, I knew you would be the same. However," Aidon looked pointedly at Xeo, who was now trembling in fear, "it seems I may have been mistaken, because he also had the good grace to know when to _stop talking_."

The shade did not say another word after that. _Good_ , Aidon thought. _He is learning_.

A short time later, Aidon attempted to conduct the rest of his daily routine. He desperately needed to shave. He lathered his face, took out his small bronze blade, and almost immediately nicked himself. He cursed; his hands were shaking far too much now, his self-stitching having drained any dexterity he had left. Already he was feeling off-kilter and the day had barely begun.

"Your Grace—"

"Not _now_ , Xeo. And no, you cannot serve as my barber."

"Hypnos requests speak with you."

Aidon cursed, wiped the soap from his face. Hypnos was beginning to become a nuisance. He dressed himself slowly and carefully, placed his platinum crown atop his head. He stepped into his throne room, sat down with purpose.

"You are looking rather haggard, King Hades, Unseen Lord of the Unseen Lands," Hypnos said, bowing deeply. An involuntary shiver ran through Aidon at the sound of his title, the name of his realm. An easy smile spread across Sleep's calm face.

"I suppose I am, Hypnos."

"Such is the consequence of you purposefully avoiding my lands."

"I would not be avoiding your lands if your son deigned to give me any sort of peace there."

Now Hypnos smiled sadly, his black eyes casting downwards. "You do that to yourself, my friend. My son is only a boy."

"Your whelp is a man full grown."

"He is young. Younger than you when your own brother pulled you from the depths of your father's bowels. He can only be your guide; it is not his fault that your spirit wishes so strongly to dwell in the violence of the past. Fates, Aidoneus: even Ares and Athena dream of things other than war. Fucking, strategizing, weaving—it's not all carnage."

Aidon huffed out in irritation. This wasn't the first time Hypnos came to him with...concerns. The deathless did not need to sleep, not really, so Aidon would avoid it for as long as he possibly could. Days at first, and then months; with time, those stretches had grown longer and longer, spanning years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laid down and slept.

"Your headaches would ease if you rested your eyes and walked through my lands again, old friend."

"Doubtful, old _friend_ ," Aidon snarled.

"Your temper, too," Hypnos said, still smiling. "You know, you've become quite taciturn."

"Is there a reason for you coming here, Hypnos, besides lecturing me? Do you plan on forcing me to walk through your realm?"

Hypnos laughed, easy and relaxed. "No, Aidon. I suspect that will happen shortly enough on its own. Even a lord of your stature cannot resist the call of sleep and the dreaming forever."

Aidon scoffed. "We shall see."

His head was pounding now, the din of new souls on the shores of the Styx sounding in his ears, and growing louder with every passing second.

"Stubborn as always, my King. No, I am here because of the girl."

Aidon's ears perked up at that. He felt his heartbeat accelerate. "What about her?"

"You must know that she has spent days wandering through my realm."

"Indeed I do."

"Even now, she sleeps. It is not healthy, for a mortal or a god to roam in my lands for such a long duration, lest they...become trapped there. I trust that was not your goal for Demeter's wilding."

The pounding in his head was getting louder. It was too much. He felt his eyelids become heavy. "What do you suggest I do?"

Hypnos' smile grew wider. "She dreams of you, you know."

Aidon frowned, sat back in his throne. Heavy. He felt so heavy. "In terror, I'm sure. Your son is a cruel man, Hypnos." He laughed bitterly. The girl could hate him forever, if she wanted to. He was bound to protect her now, and he would do his duty.

"Sometimes in terror, other times in anger, and many times in sadness. And still other times in," Hypnos paused, then clicked his tongue, " _desire_."

Aidon looked up, startled.

"Oh yes, my King. Imagine my surprise when I witnessed that memory in the dreaming. Seems there is still some life in you yet, though you're wont to snuff it out in any way you can."

"What do you suggest I do?" Aidon asked again.

"Wake her, my King. I cannot force her from my lands. She must leave of her own accord."

"But how am I to wake her, when I've no power in your untethered realm of sleep and dreams?"

Hypnos' smile grew even wider, past his face. Aidon blinked, shifted in his throne. Something was wrong. Every movement he made was slow, as if he were stuck in sand.

" _Hypnos_ ," Aidon warned, his voice rumbling deep in his chest, already thick with sleep.

"I told you that you could not resist the call of my halls for much longer, Hades. Please, enjoy your stay."

" _Hypnos_ —"

He fell backward, plunging through time, landed in a puddle of mud and ichor. The sun sat low and large in the sky, covered in the darkness of eclipse. He tasted iron.

 _No_.

All around him, he heard a deep laughter. "The little god's come back, and all alone too. Are you frightened, little god?"

He scrambled to stand in the mire, his footing unsteady. No armor, no sword, no bident, no army, no platoon. No protection.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no_ —

"Brave of you to come here, little lordling, untethered from your body in the dreaming. No god-flesh for us to feast on now; only your spirit. But feast we shall, little god, yes, yes, yes."

Aidon tried to concentrate, tried to call forth a weapon, to no avail. He had no skill or strength in the land of dreams. His heart beat wildly. The shadows around him grew closer and larger; the earth beneath him moved. Laughter, sinister and hungry, rolled over the dark landscape. Red eyes, thousands of them, peered at him all at once; he heard the flesh of thousand-toothed maws latching open, heard their tongues reaching out for him.

He was surrounded. _Morpheus_ , he called, desperate. A cold presence passed through him, brought him to his knees. Aidon dug his hands in the earth, felt his heart swell in relief when he felt dirt underneath his fingers.

"King Hades," the Lord of Dreaming said, bowing low. "Welcome to my halls once again. It has been a long time."

Aidon stood on shaky legs, looked up. The night sky loomed over them, a million stars sparkling worlds away. "A rather harsh welcome, don't you think?"

The Dream Lord shrugged, casually and slowly. "I am not at fault for where your own mind chooses to go, Your Grace."

"Your father has said as much," Aidon muttered. "What are you two playing at?" From the corner of his eye, he examined the Dream Lord. Morpheus' hair was black, as black as his own in the days before the war, and constantly moving as if he were submerged in water. A young man indeed, with the delicate features of adolescence and boyhood still clinging to him. Young like Xeo, young like Trico.

 _Alive._ Aidon clenched his jaw, looked away from the Dream Lord.

"Nothing, Your Grace. You are our king, yet even kings must rest and dream."

"Hmmph. I never find rest roaming here. Better to stay awake and conduct my business, as I had been doing—before your dear father paid me a visit."

"Do not be sore at my father, Your Grace. He went to you about the girl, not you."

"So he said, and yet here I am."

"You fell asleep. My father's lands cannot be avoided forever, and neither can my halls. You need my guidance, King Hades, and fortunate for you, I am happy to oblige. Do you wish to see your ward?"

"My betrothed," Aidon corrected. He _did_ want to see her; wanted to make sure she was all right; wanted to wake her from her endless slumber. "Only if she wishes to see me."

Morpheus smiled, the easy smile of his father. "She does. For now, at least. Come; I shall take you to her."

"Morpheus, wait—"

The world shifted, turned from night to day. Around him, leaves shuddered and sighed in a cool and gentle breeze. The world above.

He squinted, looked at the bright area before him from his place of shadow. A crystal pool sat there, cool and inviting, and he took one step forward before he heard a lovely sigh of pleasure, stopped in his tracks. Slowly, she came into view, running her fingers through her wild mane of fire.

She moved closer, and at this distance, he could see she was naked. The sun shone off her shoulders, touching her body intimately. He watched the droplets of water drip slowly down her tawny skin, down to her breasts and even lower, and his throat suddenly felt very dry.

She looked so free, so full of life, and—

 _She's bathing_ , he realized, his cheeks hot. He tore his view away from her, feeling like a pervert for staring. Ogling, really. _Brute._

"Curious," Morpheus said, causing Aidon to nearly jump out of his skin.

" _Stars_ , Morpheus," he seethed, keeping his voice a harsh whisper.

"Why do you not go to her?"

 _Because she is young, and I am old_ , Aidon thought, bitterly. _Because I stripped her from the only world she's ever known, to bring her to my cold abode. Because I have already failed her, by failing to rescue her friend and leaving the poor girl unburied and unmourned. Because I am not the handsome young lordling she deserves, but a grizzled old man, drowning in memories of the past. Because I am god, and I hunger for her, as I have never hungered before, and that frightens me._

"The grove will wither and die around me, as all living things do in the world above. I do not wish her to hate me even more than she already does, destroying this place of peace for her."

"She is the goddess of life, and this is her world of dreaming. Your presence will kill nothing here unless she allows for it."

"Morpheus—"

"Look again, Hades."

And he did, and saw that she was staring at him, not in anger or fear, but in curiosity. She smiled, held out her hand to him, beckoned him.

"Go to her, my friend. This is her dream. She wants you here."

And Aidon nodded, not quite listening. His feet moved of their own volition, pulling him forward until he reached the edge of the pond. The cool liquid lapped at his toes.

"Finally, the big, scary dread Lord of the Dead arrives."

Aidon smiled, despite his nervousness. "My apologies, Princess. Forgive an old man for being slow."

"Old?" She laughed, and her gentle tittering sounded like music. "Older, perhaps, but not old."

He laughed again. "You flatter me, darling."

"Perhaps I do. Join me in my pool, old man?"

He nodded, moved to step forward, but her laughter stopped him—

"What are you doing?" she asked, throwing him a mischievous glance.

"Joining you," he answered, stupidly.

"Do you bathe with your clothes on, Aidon?"

"Oh," he said. His cheeks burned. This was dangerous ground. _She does not truly want this, does she?_ he wondered, bewildered. But he looked at her, saw the fire in her eyes, the challenge of a youthful goddess, and well, he couldn't very well deny her now, could he?

"Um—give me, give me a moment, Princess." Already, she had thrown him off balance. _Dangerous even in her dreams_. He ignored her laughter as he turned around, began to undress himself. He was sure his whole body had turned red; his skin was on fire with embarrassment.

"You can come in now, _Lord Hades_ ," she said, emphasizing his title. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he suppressed a shudder. "I'll keep my eyes closed to protect your modesty."

"Good," he laughed, nervously. Small miracles. Slowly, he entered the cool water, and cringed; the water barely came up above his groin at its deepest point.

"I am here," he said, smiling awkwardly. Stars, he was fidgeting like a boy. She made him so nervous.

She blinked at the shadow he caused in front of her. He did his best not to stare at her breasts or any other part of her exposed body, fixedly kept his gaze near the top of her head and clenched his toes in the mud beneath his feet.

"You are so tall," she said, reaching out to touch his abdomen. Panic gripped him and he stepped back from her, but only just. She didn't seem to notice.

After a moment she said, "Kneel for me?" and he obliged, though reluctantly. _That_ she did notice.

"Does it rankle you to listen to a woman, _Lord_ _Hades_?" she teased.

They were at eye-level now, and he saw his ruined face reflected in her emerald green eyes. She kept using his title, throwing power behind it. He was shivering, even as he felt like he was overheating.

"No," he answered, truthfully. "You command with natural authority. I feel...compelled to listen to you, Princess."

"But you do not like kneeling."

His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "No indeed."

She moved to circle him now, a predator. _Dangerous woman_ , he thought, his mind firing off panic signals to the rest of his body. He stayed rooted to his spot.

"And why is that?" she asked, her tone innocent, betraying nothing. She was behind him now, he could tell.

"It puts me in a vulnerable position," he answered. Again, it was the truth. He had trouble lying to her, even in the land of dreams.

"So it does," she said, right next to his ear, and he could not suppress his shudder. "Such an old man, and yet so sensitive," she giggled in his other ear. Her hand hovered right underneath his chin. He was breathing hard now, half-turgid and frightened out of his mind. "So sensitive that even a simple touch draws pain, yes?"

"Kora," he warned, his voice raw.

"May I touch you, mighty Lord of the Dead?" she whispered.

He shut his eyes. It was only a dream. It was _her_ hands, not the smarting lacerations of battle. It was her _hands_ , not the teeth of his father. Her hands, her hands, her hands. And _she_ wanted to to touch him.

 _Let her_. _She wants you here._

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, but she caught the motion and began to lightly hold his neck, feeling his rapid pulse.

She moved in front of him now, looked at him again with curiosity. No disgust. She did not find him disgusting. _Not yet, anyway._ He swallowed hard, felt the warm touch of her palm against his skin.

He was fully erect now, and there would be no hiding it; his cock stook out and away from him, reaching up towards his navel. If she looked down into the water, she would most definitely see it; now he was thankful she made him kneel.

Stars above—she really did make him feel like a young man, hard and mad with want with just the lightest touch. Unsure of what to do.

Inexperienced.

Her hand traveled lower, down to his clavicle, following the line of his deep scar that trailed from his head to his hip. A horrible wound, that one. He swallowed hard at the memory, stuffed it down lest he'd be pulled back there and away from her. Her light fingers traced that line, stopping only when his stomach twitched at the sensation of her hands; she'd brushed a fresh stitching accidentally. She looked down, gasped.

 _Oh, no_. He wanted to hide from her. He had no idea how Zeus or Poseidon could waltz around proudly with their cocks out, stuffing themselves into anyone willing—or unwilling. Neither of them seemed to have developed his aversion to touch, his embarrassment over nakedness.

"Forgive me," he chuckled, hating how nervous he sounded even to his own ears. _Weak_.

"May I touch you there?" she asked, and her voice sounded husky. She looked up at him, her eyes dark. _Fates_ , he did want her to touch him; wanted nothing more than to bury himself into her, again and again and again. Would she mount him, like she had on Olympios? Take her pleasure on him? He hoped she would, damn tradition and damn his pride.

 _That is not why you are here_ , he chided himself.

"No, Princess," he said, groaning in frustration. She pouted, and her full lips together made him wonder what her mouth would feel like around him. His cock throbbed incessantly now, and he wanted nothing more than to pick her up fuck her where she stood, fuck her until the only words she knew were his name and his name alone.

"Do you not find me desirable?" she asked, her chin quivering.

 _Wild woman, do you want me to destroy you?_

He wanted to scream.

"I do find you desirable, Kora," he said, almost breathless. "As you can see, plainly."

"Then," she said, mischief in her eyes again, "let me play with you."

 _Fuck it,_ he thought, darkly. _Let her do it. She wants you. Stick her, make her your wife already._

He clenched his jaw. She was still so close; warmth radiated off her and onto him.

"You do not know what it is you ask," he ground out.

"I think I do," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She lingered there, much too long, and as he turned his head to meet her lips with his own, she began kissing down his neck. He huffed out, annoyed, and she giggled. "I have the dread Lord of the Dead squirming beneath my fingers," she whispered, smiling against his skin.

"Wicked girl," he said, lightly grabbing a fistful of her hair. He pulled her head back and held her fast, and her flinty gaze only made his hunger greater. _Fearless_ , he thought. He peered down her, watching her pulse thrum. He leaned forward, kissed her there and then bit down as she moaned softly in his ear. She gasped loudly as he kissed the new mark he'd given her, pulled his head closer. _Insatiable_. A malicious titter of laugher escaped from him. "I would make a meal out of you."

He was losing control, and quickly.

 _Stop this, you degenerate_.

He blinked, shook his head.

"Prove it to me, _Lord Hades_."

" _Prove_ it to you?" He pulled her flush against him, relished the feeling her skin on his. "Such a dangerous woman you are, to provoke me like that. Be careful about who you challenge. I am a king, and you are not ready for my carnal delights, my little virgin Princess." His voice, already quite deep, came out as a low rumble from his chest, and he felt her shiver against him. Oh, she liked his voice, did she? That was something new. A wicked smile cracked across his face. Only then did he realize his mistake, because she pressed herself flush to his arousal, undulated her hips on him slowly and purposefully.

" _Fuck_ ," he groaned.

 _Take her, she wants you, take her._

"A sensitive king," she teased, low and seductive. "Long alone," she moved again, and his grip on her grew tighter, "long... _untouched_."

 _This is only a fantasy._

She moved again, eliciting an involuntary moan from him. She giggled, the little minx. She had no idea who he was; what he wanted to do to her; how he wanted to break her. "Do you like that, _Lord Hades_? How I make you hard, how I make your cock feel?"

 _Stars_ , the words coming out of her mouth. Speaking like a lowborn girl, wrapping around him like smoke—where did she learn such uncouth language?

"You've some mouth on you, young lady."

She laughed, perfectly innocent, ground herself against him again.

"Stars, you are _wild,_ " he hissed, intoxicated and lost to the sensation of her body in his arms. Her hand reached down, and he did not stop her as she began to stroke him, rubbing her thumb over him expertly. His eyes rolled back, his hips jerked forward involuntarily.

She laughed again. "Do you like that?"

"Yes," he said. "Oh, _yes_."

 _You're supposed to wake her up, not fuck her in her dreams like a pervert._

"Seems like _I_ will be the one to make a meal out of _you_ ," she laughed into his ear. Oh, she wanted to taunt him now, did she? He growled, actually growled in response, and hitched her legs up above his waist. She squealed in surprise, and perhaps a little in fear. He ignored it, continued to stand and then walk to the edge of the pool, where he laid her flat on her back, and not too kindly, either. She would learn just how rough he could be; learn just what her boldness would get her. He'd leave his marks all over her and she'd see what kind of man he was.

He looked down at her, breathing hard. Now he could see fear in her eyes as she looked up at him, and his boiling blood only faltered a fraction.

"Do you wish to continue?" he asked her, his voice hard as granite.

 _Wake her up._

She sat up, but only just. "What do you plan to do?" There was an edge of uncertainty in her tone. He was definitely scaring her.

He didn't care.

He placed his hands on her knees and abruptly pulled her thighs apart. She squeaked, startled, and the sound sent a dangerous thrill through him. My, my, my, she was quite wet already. _Wild woman_. He stepped between her legs, his heavy arousal grazing her, and she trembled, moved her hips against him ever so slightly. He moved in response, just so, and she gasped.

He grinned down at her, electrified by her sounds, and he could see from his reflection in her eyes that his smile was not kind. He looked crazed, like a man possessed.

He was.

 _Wake her up._

"What am I going to do? Why, darling, I am going to devour you."

"...Devour me?"

Oh no, he did not like the sound of her voice then. The fire was gone; the boldness, replaced completely with apprehension. Of all the times to get second thoughts—

Aidon let out a frustrated sigh.

"Yes, my dear," he snapped, irritated beyond words. "Devour you. Claim you. Put my face between your thighs and fuck your virgin quim with my tongue, and make your toes curl like you've made mine." He chuckled, mirthless. "It's only fair."

"I thought…I thought we were speaking in metaphors?"

"Fuck's sake." He stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked down at her, realized that her shivering came more from fear now than desire, and he cursed himself for being a brute and a cad. "What a fool I've been," he said, miserable.

"Aidon?" She looked at him now, tears in her eyes. He felt all the anger drain out of him, and he swayed on his feet, unsteady. She was a woman full grown, yes, that much was true—but Demeter had kept her ignorant and naive, and he should have known better than to push her too far, in a fantasy that she had conjured up for her own pleasure, and not his. He swallowed hard; his head was pounding now. _Should've just let her touch you like she wanted to, you brute._ Instead he played the part of a licentious pervert. He cursed, and cursed again when she started weeping.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

"Shh, don't cry," he said, reaching for her hand. To his surprise, she accepted it, and he ran his thumb along the tops of her knuckles. "You did nothing wrong. You were not ready for that, and I should've known. I _did_ know. Please, forgive an old fool of a man."

She said nothing, only lightly squeezed his hand in response.

 _Wake her up now, you idiot._

He leaned over her, though his body screamed at him for release.

"Aidon, what are you—"

He kissed the top of her head, leaned down toward her ear.

"Wake up," he said, revelling at how she trembled, now again in desire, at just the sound of his voice. Good. He could work with that. "Wake up, sweet Kora, and I will make you my wife, properly."

"Aidon?"

"Wake up."

He was shaking. No—someone was shaking him. He blinked, then started awake, nearly falling from his throne.

"Apologies, Sire," Xeo said, stepping back reverently and bowing low. "I didn't mean to startle you. The Lord Hypnos told me not to wake you unless something happened, said you needed rest."

Aidon sat back in his throne, rubbed his bleary and bloodshot eyes. "What's happened, Xeo?" he asked, yawning. Now that he had slept, he felt that he needed even more sleep. Exhaustion radiated from each of his muscles, creaked in each of his bones. All those years he'd been avoiding sleep, crashing down on him all at once. Perfect.

 _I will need to find Hypnos and deal with him later_ , Aidon thought.

"Your betrothed, Your Grace."

Aidon looked pointedly at his squire. He ignored how his heart sped up. "What about her?"

"She's finally awake, my King."


	10. Chapter 10: A Sliver of Iron

Kora sat motionless, watching her reflection in the mirror as her handmaiden—a shade by the name of Minthe—attempted to braid her hair.

"You gave us all quite a fright, m'lady, sleepin' for days on end like that," the shade said, pulling roughly on a knot. Upon waking, Kora had been shuffled out of her quarters by four ghostly handmaidens who spent the better portion of an hour bathing and dressing her.

"Mm."

"And, well, it's strange to hear of royalty sleepin' so much. The King don't do much sleepin', far as I hear the other servants tell it."

"Interesting," Kora said, biting back a sharp remark. She didn't care how much that half-blind behemoth slept. She didn't want to hear about him, didn't want to be reminded of how he ripped her from the world above, of how her mother tried to hurt her—or of how she had dreamt so often of touching him.

"The man just works," the shade continued, oblivious to the irritated edge in Kora's voice. "Works, works, works. Spars occasionally. My, do the grounds shake when he does that! Gives Genly an awful fright every time."

"Genly?"

"Oh, that's right! Apologies, m'lady. Been here so long I forget you're not acquainted with the staff. Genly is the King's majordomo. Bearded fellow, bit of a round belly. Respected colonel, as I heard it, in the World Above. Only the King knows the fellow's old name, and Genly's not much for speakin' 'bout the old days. He's right old grump, always reportin' numbers to the King about which funds need to go where, what parts of the palace need reparin' and restructurin' and the like, which shades finally want to take their chances and try again."

"Is the witch part of the palace staff as well?" Kora had seen her briefly, the Lady of the Crossroads. The titaness seemed to change in age from moment to moment, and it was very disconcerting, even as she offered Kora what seemed to be a kindhearted smile.

"You mean Lady Hecate? Oh, stars, no! No, no, she's just a friend of the master, a member of court I suppose, though it's a small court, down 'ere. She and Genly both definitely give the King more to do, if you ask me. Suppose that's how it must be for you lot, you lords and ladies, especially when you're a king or queen. Responsibilities and all that; neverending. My, I think we're done. You're a vision, m'lady. The King will certainly be pleased—"

"I don't want him to be pleased," Kora said, glaring at the shade through the reflection in the mirror. This was his domain; surely he could feel her anger, as easily as Kora could sense the roots of a new sapling digging into the earth. She sighed; best not to throw a tantrum like a child. _Maybe he can be reasoned with?_ Kora hoped so. She did not want to go back to her mother, at least not for a long while, but she also did not want to be his ward or his concubine. "I want to go my own way," Kora continued, standing up.

She felt her cheeks heat up when she saw the reflection her body made in the mirror. She was dressed in a fine black cloth, incredibly soft and smooth, and richly adorned with threads of gold and silver that formed flowing patterns of vines and flowers down her body. The silky fabric hugged and accentuated her curves, making her look much more like the woman she now was, and not the girl her mother wanted her to be. Its neckline dipped low, though not so low as to make her feel uncomfortable. Indeed,the dress was beautiful, and unlike anything she had seen before. Moreover, she felt beautiful wearing it.

Her breath caught for a moment, because she knew he would find her to be beautiful, and she was not entirely sure if that was something she wanted. She wasn't naive to his appetites. Her traitorous mind imagined him standing behind her, his hands holding her waist. She could see the wicked grin on his ruined face; twinkling mischief in his good eye that betrayed the fact he wasn't as dour and fearsome as he'd like people to believe. She shook her head; she knew she was being a fool. He was a formidable and mighty king, and she was trapped in his domain. It would be only through his grace that she would be allowed to leave.

"You've hardly touched your food."

His deep, dark voice shocked her. She blinked once, twice, looked at the delicious meal spread before her: a plate of tender lamb, rice seasoned with saffron spices from the east, olives and soft, crumbling cheese on a bed of salad, along with stuffed grape leaves and flat bread. Further away sat honey pastries and bowls of a kind of dessert-pudding she had never seen before. It was not the overdone banquet she saw at the Ball, but it was nevertheless a feast fit for a king.

They were alone together in his private dining chamber, and she was completely at his mercy. She took a sip of her wine, doing her best to ignore his scrutinizing gaze and failing utterly at doing so. Finally, she allowed her eyes to move towards him, and he looked...exhausted.

He'd grown a short beard since last she saw him, and dark circles hung under both of his eyes. His wretched scar burned red and angry on his face and he wore no crown in his private quarters—though his fine clothes and rings signaled that he was indeed the Lord of Riches. He sat back in his chair, took a sip of wine as well and said, "You're staring, you know."

"Only because you yourself were staring, Lord Hades." She also took another sip, blinked as the warm liquid flowed down her throat and made her limbs begin to tingle. The wine was strong.

"You are not obliged to call me that."

"I don't want to call you anything else." The wine was making her feel awfully bold.

"I see." He had the good grace to look slightly annoyed, a crack in his cool facade, and then he shrugged. Back to that detachment; that nonchalance she wanted so badly to ruin. "Very well, Princess. You've still hardly touched your food. I can have the chef make something else, if you'd prefer. Perhaps wild berries and mossy twigs are more to your liking."

Kora bristled at his snideness but did not comment on it; instead, she took a large gulp of wine and flexed her fingers. She felt a sense of power here, one that she could wield, though the power was not like what she felt in the World Above. For one thing, it was very faint, but she was shocked she could feel any pull at all here, in the absolute domain of a realm-lord.

"I—I want to go home," she said, moving that small ball of power in-between her fingers. She wondered, briefly, if he could sense it, but his calm demeanor betrayed nothing. _Surely, he'd sense my power if I threw it at him_. She smiled to herself but quickly smothered the thought; attacking him was a fool's idea, and besides, he'd done nothing to hurt her—yet. That would change once she tried anything of the sort, and he'd be perfectly justified in meting out whatever punishment he saw fit.

He had started eating now, and his pace was unhurried, unbothered. He took another sip of wine. Kora's stomach made a noise, much to her chagrin. It'd been days since she'd eaten anything; she was _ravenous_.

"I want to go home," she repeated, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach.

"Home to your mother who tried to turn you into a sapling?" he asked. His tone was light and mocking, though his voice remained deep. He looked at her now, the corner of his lips slightly turned up.

"Of course not," Kora answered, right on the verge of throwing her gathered power at him, damn the consequences.

"Oh? Then where do you wish to go, my _Princess_?"

"Away from here, _Lord Hades_. Away from you. I—" Her breath caught because he was glaring at her now, his gaze hard and inscrutable, and she felt fear beginning to creep at the edges of her senses. She shut her eyes. "I want to be on my own," she finished.

"Very well."

She blinked, looked up at him. _He's...agreeing?_

"That's it?" she asked, amazed. "You're...you're letting me go?"

"That's it." He had gone back to eating, his slightly hurried pace the only indication that he might've been irritated or angry. Or sad. It was difficult to tell; even with his helm off, the man was still as unreadable as ever. "You can even leave now, if you wish. Though, the journey will be long and difficult for you, so I suggest that you _do_ eat something."

Memories tugged at the back of her mind, of a story she had heard once, long ago in her childhood. The food of the underworld was binding; kept the dead, well, _dead_. She would doom herself to his realm forever. _Bastard._

Kora narrowed her eyes, stood up abruptly from her seat. He raised a brow, the one over his ruined eye, and she felt a dangerous rage start to overtake her. She hated him. She hated his realm and his face and his voice; she hated how he had ripped her away from the only world she had ever known; she hated him for allowing her friend to die— _he_ , who was the Master of Death; and she hated how, even in her dreams, she couldn't escape him, and how she longed to touch him and press her body against his. He made her feel confused and lustful and angry all at once, and now she would never go home again. Her rage was potent, and growing stronger with every passing second.

"You're trying to trick me into staying here forever with you," she hissed at him, horrified. _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._

" _Trick_ you?" Now he stood, closing the distance between them, and his posture was regal and imposing. It took all of Kora's will not to wither and fall to her knees in front of him. "My dear, if I had wanted to keep you here against your will, you would already be bound to me." He was not yelling, but was not far from yelling, either. She had undoubtedly insulted him.

"How do I know that I am not?" she spat back.

"I don't seem to remember _claiming_ you," he answered, coldly. "I don't seem to remember _fucking_ you." He was standing over her now, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. His furrowed brow drew dark shadows over his eyes. "Though," he smiled now, cruelly, and she felt the rough touch of his fingertips trace her jaw. "That can be arranged shortly, if you're so inclined."

"You're a brute," she gasped. He laughed, but the sound contained no humor; it rumbled through her, straight to her cunt; and she felt attracted to him, even as she feared and hated him. Her traitorous cheeks turned red. "I want nothing to do with food of the underworld binds—"

He leaned down, and this close she could smell him; his smokey scent wrapped around her and smothered her senses.

"Wood sprite, I've seen your mind, and you are not a good liar," he whispered into her ear. "Let me _play_ with you," he said, pitching his voice up to mimic her, and she froze. "Do you remember now, my wanton little goddess?"

Her stomach twisted. The memory was fresh. The dream had felt almost...real, as if he had been there. Alarm swept through her—he _had_ been there! Which meant he'd seen all the moments where she'd touched him—felt them, too?—and the moment where they had come close to coupling, only for her to grow fearful of him and his desire, and for the dream to shift into something terrible once more: her kidnapping, the pain of her transformation, the sight of her friend dying.

" _You've been spying on my dreams_?" She wanted to sound aghast and angry—which she was, incredibly so—but she sounded only embarrassed.

"Not…" he paused, his tone kinder now. He tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Not _intentionally_ , Princess, and only once, I assure you."

"Your assurance means nothing to me," she muttered, though rage had mixed with a heady desire. She had the insane urge to touch the broken horn that sprouted from his head, run her fingers through his thick hair. She did not. "All you've done is decieve me from the moment I met you, and now you're trying to trick me into staying here. You are...a bad man."

"Kora," he whispered, reaching down to hold her waist, "I've been eating here for _eons_ , and you've clearly seen me in the World Above. I move freely where I wish, whenever I wish." He placed his other hand around her neck and slowly began moving it down her shoulder. Close; he was so, so close. She could feel the heat radiating off him. His hand paused at the pin holding her dress together, and Kora's pulse quickened. One quick move and he'd have her as naked as the day she was born.

"I can take what I want, when I want it." She shivered, but only just, and she wanted to kick herself for showing fear. He hummed, seemingly amused with the effect he had on her. His hand slowly returned to its place on her jaw, and he lifted her head to look at him once more. "It just so happens that I wish to spend the majority of my time in my own realm."

He peered down at her, an unmistakable hunger in his eyes. "It just so happens that you appeal to my better nature."

Kora swallowed. Belatedly, she noticed that he had backed her up against the wall; the hard stone felt cool against her feverish skin. "You are the realm-lord of this place, while I am just your...prisoner, your ward. Of course you can move freely about."

The desire in his eyes quickly flickered into annoyance. "Woman, I am your _betrothed_."

Kora's jaw went slack. "You're my _what_?"

He huffed out. "Intended, fiance, _husband-to-be_. We are engaged, and have been since before you took your first steps, by the leave of your lady mother and lord father. I'm not going to keep you here through deceit or some parlor trick." He raised his hands, palms open, as if to say _See? I've hidden nothing from you._

"If you wish to stay, then stay," he continued. "We will...ah, _consummate_ , the union—er, _our_ union—when _you_ are ready and not a moment before." He hesitated before continuing, at a loss for words, and the shock of seeing the implacable Lord of the Dead so nervous and awkward kept Kora rooted in place. "However," he pressed on, shutting his eyes, "if you wish to leave on some foolish whim of youth, I won't stop you. You are a goddess in your own right, and my realm...well, it does take some getting used to. But—but it is not so bad, I think you'll find, after a time. Do you—do you understand?"

She felt sick. Her mother's words rang loudly in her ears.

 _Come now, brother. Come and claim your bride, if you dare!_

She _was_ meant to marry him.

"My mother never said anything about you."

"Of course she never did," he muttered, backing away from her. "Stars damn that woman! It was her idea in the first place, long ago."

 _Impossible._ Her mother was an overprotective hen, and Kora was lucky to receive any education from her at all. When Kora was finally allowed on Olympios—long after she was considered an adult by both mortal and immortal reckoning—she finally realized how deeply ignorant of the world she had been. Her mother had set her up for failure. There was no way she would have arranged a marriage between her only daughter and the dread Lord of the Dead.

"I don't believe you," Kora said, barely above a whisper. "And I'd rather be a tree than married to a liar."

" _Stars_." He groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are a _child!_ "

"I am not!" She was enraged. "You are so infuriating! You didn't seem to think I was a child when you pushed my skirts up at the Ball! You didn't seem to think I was a child when you—when you spied on my dreams like a pervert—" she was losing control of her anger, and she felt that dark power inside her building, growing stronger and intoxicating "—you didn't seem to think I was a child when you trapped me against the wall just now, you _filthy_ , _ugly_ , _disgusting_ , _dirty_ —"

" _Enough!_ " he bellowed, and the strength of his voice and anger shook the palace walls. A shadow emanated from him, and Kora recognized it as the same sort of power she held within herself, though it was—tamer, somehow. Controlled.

 _R_ , she heard a voice in her mind say. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

 _Who are you?_ she asked the voice. No answer.

"Enough," he repeated, softer this time. "You're right."

She blinked, drew back from that dark place in her mind she didn't recognize. He shut his eyes, rubbed his temples. He looked deflated, somehow. "You are, Kora, you are. I've been a pig and I've done this all wrong. If you wish to leave, so be it; I'll take you to your father in the morning. I see it now. I've a realm to run and you're...you're too much of a hindrance."

"A _hindrance_?"

 _E._

 _E._

 _OY._

 _G._

Kora nodded. Murderous rage filled her now: electrifying, orgiastic darkness. _Destroy him,_ the mantra played in her mind, over and over again.

 _Destroy him, destroy him, destroy him._

She could do nothing but listen to it. She quickly gathered power between her fingers, filled it with all her rage and hurt and despair, and struck him right in the chest. Around her, she sensed that wave of power expand and contract; it was the most power she had ever felt in her entire life, more so than when she brought back life to the forest after a fire had all but destroyed it. Her hands burned, her vision tunneled, and she could taste iron in the air. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard dark laughter, and she repressed the urge to shudder. Hades was the only thing she could see, and she watched as he reeled back from her and toppled to his knees. He looked at her, breathless and bemused. _I've made a terrible mistake_ , she thought. Her rage had left her a shaking shell of regret, and she wanted to retch.

"Kora?" he asked, gasping. She ran over to him, knelt.

"Stars, I don't know what came over me. I just–I got _so_ angry—"

His hand covered the area where she had struck him, and to her relief, she saw that he wasn't bleeding. Yet he still did not look...well. His pupil was the size of a grain of sand, and his breathing was erratic. Indeed, he looked frightened, and that frightened her. A sharp pain in her foot made her look down.

"What in the—" At her feet, she saw millions of squirming maggots, some of which had been gnawing on her flesh. She began to scream, but his shaking hand covered her mouth.

"G-g-get up," he whispered, shivering. She nodded, winced as the worms continued to burrow into her flesh.

"Where are we?" she asked, keeping her voice low. The iron taste persisted, but now she could also smell the rotting scent of sulphur and animal flesh.

"In the d-d-depths of Tartarus, beyond where Titans or gods hold power," he answered, trying his best to control his breathing. Slowly, he waved a shaking hand over his body, and Kora watched, entranced, as his fine clothes transformed into a fine set of armor, well worn. He did the same for her, and her silky dress morphed into a heavy raiment more suited for a man than a woman. "In the W-w-world Between Worlds, in the bridge that leads to the birthplace of all the cosmos, where ancient horrors as old as Chaos itself reign. You b-b-brought us here, darling."

Over his shoulder, she saw a massive star covered in a great eclipse. Her fingers tingled with that same power she had felt before. She was afraid. "Me?"

"Yes, Kora, _you._ Any chance you could p-pull that trick again and get us out of here?"

"I—" She was dumbfounded. She had no idea how she had managed to transport them into the depths of Tartarus. She tried gathering that dark power once more, and she felt its strange pull—and it felt wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Twisted and corrupted. She pushed it away, shook her head. "No, Hades."

He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and soon Kora saw a blade appear in his hand. He was a powerful god indeed, to be able to conjure his personal effects in a place so alien. She had never been able to pull anything from the aether besides plants, had never been able to conjure her own set of clothing. And yet—she had transported them both here. _Who am I?_

" _Who indeed_." She heard that dark titter of laughter again, and this time, she did shudder.

"What was that?"

"A nightmare," he answered. He had his helm on now, though she could still see him. "Get behind me."

"The little god's returned, and with fresh meat too!"

Around them, Kora heard voices, and the sickening, wet sound of flesh being crushed underfoot. Red eyes, glowing ember flames in the darkness, appeared by the thousands. "Hades?"

"Kora," he answered, keeping his voice calm. He still did not sound well, though he was no longer stuttering. "You can get us out of here."

"Look at the girl!" the voices said. "He's brought the girl!"

"We'll feast on her too!"

"The girl is the one we've been waiting for!"

"The Lords must be appeased!"

"I can't, Hades."

"Kora," he said again. "You need to try." _Or else we will die_ was left unsaid, but she understood. This place was dangerous, and she was their reason for being here. She did try: she tugged on that dark power within her, felt it tug back and almost drown her, and she screamed.

Laughter, oily and malicious, sounded all around her. She held her ears, but she could still hear them.

"The little queen can't control it!"

"Weaker than the lordling!"

"Kora, don't move." Coldness wrapped around her, and she knew then that he had cast a shield over her.

"Feast on them both; tear them limb from limb!"

"Rip their souls asunder!"

And like that, it started. All at once, the creatures came rushing towards her and Hades, their great maws open; acidic saliva dripped from their knife-teeth, and Kora wanted to shut her eyes—yet fear kept her paralyzed and unable to look away. Everything in front of her moved slowly, trapped in the thick amber of time: the charging creatures, ready to strike, and Hades, her kidnapper, prepared to meet their blows. With each second the creatures came closer, until their ravenous, bladed maws would meet with Hades' stygian sword in a brilliant clash of sparkling steel and ivory.

With his free hand, the Lord of the Dead called forth tendrils of black flames and shot them through the creatures, spears of the underworld. Some groaned in pain as they hit the ground, and others laughed, relishing in the agony of the burn. Still others managed to dodge the attack and pressed forward into striking distance. One creature, a sickening beast made up of a thousand legs, swung a clawed foot in an arc above the Hades' head, while another made an attempt to strike his bowels. He parried both attacks and dodged a third, crouching and slicing off several dozens the beast's poisonous legs.

One of the other creatures circled around them, moving its bladed, fleshy arm in a side-ward slash. Hades blocked the attack and countered quickly, cleaving the beast straight down the middle of hideous roach-like body. He removed the blade with smooth, effortless precision and the thing collapsed, lifeless.

Abruptly, the sound of ripping sinew and flesh took on a lower note, and Kora screamed: one of the beasts had plunged its bladed foot deep into Hades' back. The god stumbled forward with hunched shoulders. And yet…and yet, though he stumbled, he did not fall; instead, he spun around, a whirlwind. Reaching behind him, he pulled the bladed foot out of his back swiftly, a slight hitch in his breathing the only outward sign of pain.

"Hades!" she yelled.

He looked toward her for a moment, a small, miniscule moment—but it was enough. Through his stomach pierced a great, sharp, claw, and her kidnapper was lifted off his feet, his helm removed, and she could do nothing but watch in horror as the great terror that held him laughed.

"Little lordling," it said, caressing Hades' face with its pale tongue, "it is _good_ to see you again. The Lords do love to see a fighting spirit."

"Aidon!" she screamed once more. She wanted to run to him, save him, but her cowardly feet would not move.

The creature that held him was grotesque, a great maggot covered in sharp hairs. Each segment of its body oozed a rank-smelling viscous fluid, and its massive maw contained hundreds of rows of sharp teeth. The horror looked at her briefly, all ten thousand of its scarlet eyes, and then returned its attention to Hades, whom it kept in an iron-grip and impaled in its claws.

"I'm going to enjoy this," it said. It brought its other hand forward, pierced Hades straight through his skull, and Kora fell to her knees. "The Lords of Longing will be appeased, the World-Eater will have his feast."

Hades' head lolled onto his chest, his armor transformed back into his robes, and he dropped his sword. He was dying. The Lord of the Dead, murdered because of her. _No. No!_

That dark power within her surged, and this time she let it overtake her. Inside herself, she submerged in black flames, and those flames burned through her. She screamed in agony as they burst forth, and the world around her groaned and split and reformed until she heard perfect stillness.

Before her, she saw Hades standing, but just barely. The air was cold around her, the taste of iron gone. They were free.

"Aidon…" Her hands went to her mouth; she wanted to cry. Through his abdomen and skull still pierced with the bladed claws of that great worm-beast, and ichor oozed out of his wounds dangerously. Kora could hear him slurring curse words to himself in low whispers. "Kora…help. Please."

She rushed over to him, relieved of her stupor.

He was panting, uselessly pulling at the blade in his stomach. Ichor poured from his mouth. He leaned against her, unrestrained and heavy, and Kora's mind raced with panicked thoughts. His fingers continued to fumble with the thing jammed grotesquely deep into his abdomen.

"I can't push it through," he groaned. "Get it out."

Kora wrapped nervous, trembling fingers around the blade shaft sticking out of his belly. Hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

"I—I don't know if I'll be strong enough, Hades."

His calloused, bloodied hand held hers. His grip held no strength. "You have to be."

Kora gulped, nodding. Holding tightly onto the thick blade, she pulled with all her might, throwing her body backward. Belly flesh ripped apart, Hades fell forward with her, landed heavily on top of her. His breathing continued to be erratic and labored against her stomach. She reached toward the hideous, sharp claw embedded in his skull and pulled, hard. She shut her eyes as blood and gore landed on her, shuddered in revulsion.

"My... apologies... darling," he slurred.

She looked down at him, saw his eyes peering up her. She couldn't tell if he could actually see her; even his good eye was glassy. "Didn't mean to land on you, or get all this blood on you. I'm... having trouble getting up just now, though. Give... give...me a minute. I just...need...to rest."

"Oh, _Aidon_ ," she breathed, ashamed. He was still dying; deep inside herself, she could feel the fire of his soul flickering and growing dimmer with each passing moment. He was not healing; the wounds were as permanent as they were lethal—and it was all her fault.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, slowly tracing her finger around the wound. It was her fault. It was all her fault—and yet...the flesh responded to her touch, began to close and heal.

"Stars above," she gasped.

He tensed instantly.

"What're you…" He began to squirm against her, all instinct, but relaxed as her healing touch worked its way through him. He pressed his face into her abdomen, kissed her there, and stilled.

Soon, his bone and flesh knitted together as was proper for a god.

"T-thank you," he sighed, his voice thick and exhausted, and she knew then that he had fallen fast asleep.

"You're welcome, my lord," she said, still continuing to massage his scalp. Just like his beard, his hair had grown longer since her kidnapping, and she marveled at how soft it was. She wished she were touching it under better circumstances. Her eyes burned; her cheeks felt wet. _You almost got him killed_. All because she couldn't control herself. _He's right. You are a child._

"I'm so sorry, Aidon," she repeated. His face was wet now from her tears, and she wanted to laugh at herself for being so stupid. Curiosity got the better of her and she touched the ruined horn, felt its ridges and he stirred, but only just. She decided to leave him be; it would not do well to disturb the poor man as he slept. She'd hurt him enough for one day; indeed, she'd hurt him enough to last a lifetime.

She looked up, saw the starlit night sky and the snow on the ground, and suppressed her panic as she realized that she had no idea where she had transported them.

"Aidon," she whispered. "What have I done?"


	11. Chapter 11: Eros

Darkness. Black beyond the color of a moonless night sky. And quiet; the din of souls a muffled undercurrent in Aidon's mind.

Laughter, as old as time itself, rumbled beneath his sore feet. His hand twitched, reaching for his sword.

"You know better, boy." The voice was venomous and cunning. He clenched and unclenched his fists; his palms felt clammy.

"Father," he said.

"To what do I owe this visit? It is not very often my first-born heir comes to my lovely abode, even with all my _invitations_." A glint of chains suggested movement. Aidon tensed.

"I didn't come here to visit you."

Another glint in the chains, another peel of heavy, venomous laughter. "Oh? Then why are you here, boy?"

The voice was very close.

"I—"

"You do not know, but I do. Would you like me to tell you why you are here, son?" His chest felt very heavy. The earth scraped at his back. He was on the ground, pinned by a great weight. "It is because you are _weak_."

The word stuck, a hot knife plunged deep into his belly. "No—"

"It is because you are _afraid_."

He felt a great pressure on his right eye, and he began to struggle, pushing himself up and kicking his legs about, but he could not find the strength to escape.

The pressure continued, a searing, painful digging, and suddenly he awoke with a start, held his palm to his eye. Strange, white floating particles danced before him, and when he exhaled, he could see his breath. As awareness slowly came to him, he registered that he felt...cold, and he shivered. The feeling was alien.

He always brought ice and decay when he travelled to the World Above, but that was simply a consequence of his station and presence. He had never experienced the effects of the cold; the natural cold of the world. He looked down at his arms, saw bumps on his skin, and grimaced in distaste. How...unpleasant.

He tried to stand, saw the world tilt before him, and immediately sat back down in the snow. Stars, he was sore. Every inch of his body ached, and his temples had begun to throb violently. He placed his hand on the ground, dug beneath the cold, felt hard earth between his fingers. Outward, he pushed his senses: down to the reaches of his realm, and up to his king-brother's abode.

Nothing.

He could sense nothing; couldn't even hear the wandering souls lost on the banks of the Styx.

Alarm swept through him; he had no idea where he was. The clouds overhead moved and the snow before him became a white-hot reflection of sunlight that burned his eyes. He shut them reflexively, willed himself not to panic. The cold was settling in his flesh, and distantly, he heard the distinctive sound of footsteps sinking into snow.

"Stars, you're still asleep." A voice. Young—a woman's. Kora's voice.

His stomach twisted into knots. Memories of the previous day played in front of his eyelids, and he groaned. He had underestimated her strength and her temper greatly, and had paid the price for it.

Kora. Maiden. Innocence. The name did not seem entirely appropriate.

She was young, yes—but also incredibly ferocious and filled with a raw power he had never before witnessed in Zeus' progeny. Quickly, he felt her presence near him; her soft palm touched his cheek in worry.

He wanted to scream. She was touching his face. She had touched his wounds, healed them in his delirium, and now she was touching his face. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched his face; it was not something he allowed from anyone, ever. It was too much, and sent his skin aflame in anxiety. Her hand lingered there, cupping his cheek, and he grabbed her wrist gently. He would run away from her if he could, like a coward. She sucked in a breath.

He opened his eyes, looked at her intently. She was still wearing her gown from the night before. Goose flesh littered the tops of her shoulders.

"I've brought some food," she said. Her green eyes were so clear and vibrant, her mane of fire-red curls and brown skin a shock of color against the snow. He saw her heartbeat thrumming in her neck, wanted to kiss her there if she'd let him.

Instead, he buried that impulse and told her she was beautiful.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down, averted his gaze.

He sounded like a lovesick boy, but he didn't care.

It was true. She was beautiful, achingly so, even after everything. _I should be angry with her_ , he thought. But he wasn't. She wielded power that she did not understand and could not control, and truth be told, her wild strength excited him. She would be a worthy queen indeed, if they could only stop wounding one another. And only if she'd have him.

"Are you cold?" he asked, and she looked at him again. She was studying him, scrutinizing him, and it took all of his willpower not to fidget under her gaze.

"Yes, but I found a cave nearby, unoccupied. It should be warm enough for us."

They were still touching, daring the other to move first. Then he saw ichor staining her gown— _his_ ichor, _his_ golden blood now dried and cracking—and he frowned, because he realized that he must be filthy.

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

She winced. "Somewhat, my lord. The forest is...asleep, but there are trees here I recognize. I think we're in Thrace."

So they were still within their own sphere. A small relief, but a relief nonetheless. He relaxed, let his hand drop from her wrist.

"Very well."

"Are you hungry?"

He nodded, leaned back against the tree. She handed him some berries; he ate them in silence. They were, strangely, fresh: their taste a perfect mixture of tartness and sweetness. He ate what she served him, felt his headache recede. What he really needed was ambrosia, but...this would do. For now. It would have to.

When he was done, she beckoned him to stand, and he struggled to heave himself up. After several failed attempts, he suffered the indignity of her helping him once again. It wasn't right, her... _coddling_ him like this. Downright shameful, if he were being honest. He bit back an acerbic remark. It wasn't her fault he'd fought poorly. He'd let himself get distracted; an amateur mistake, allowed through lack of practice. In his grief over Trico and his men, he had let himself deteriorate. Irresponsible and foolish.

Now he was being held by this young thing, and he could do nothing but lean heavily on her as they trudged through the deep snow.

He wanted to laugh; he had no business courting a woman like her. She deserved someone young and strapping, full of excitement and exuberance. All he had to offer her was his melancholy realm, and the weight of personal demons he could not let release. He should've never agreed to the engagement in the first place.

They stopped near a half-frozen river. Underneath the ice he could see various fish swimming; their lives flourishing, even in this frigid place. Trico's young face flashed before his eyes, and he crossed his arms. He was very cold.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him.

He didn't answer her for a long while. Every time he tried to open his mouth, his words stuck in his throat.

"Aidon?"

Aidon. She was calling him that now; a new barrier crossed. His scars burned. He shut his eyes.

"My boy," he said.

"Your boy?"

"My son."

"Oh!" She sounded embarrassed. "Forgive me. I didn't—I didn't know you had a son."

"I don't anymore. He's dead." Beyond dead; the young man's soul had been ripped asunder. Aidon would never see Trico again, and it was his fault and his fault alone.

His father's words rang in his ears. _Weak_. He was still so weak. A poor father, and a worse king. Here he was, away from his realm, with a woman who hated him. _She should've just let me die_ , he thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Aidon—"

"Don't be."

Onward they went in uncomfortable silence, stopping periodically for him to rest, until they reached the bottom of a great waterfall. She never complained about shouldering his weight, although he was no doubt a great deal heavier than her.

"We're here," she said. And he must've looked confused, because then she laughed, smiled up at him, and said, "the cave sits behind the waterfall."

"Very well."

Once inside, she leaned him against the wall.

"It's warm in here," he said. Beyond the roar of the waterfall, he heard something bubbling. "A hot spring?"

She nodded. "There are several pools. We can wash our clothes—"

"You can't pull from the ether?"

"No, my lord. I mean, not—not clothing. My mother...she never taught me things of that sort."

Irritation prickled in him at the mention of Demeter.

"Of course not," he spat, furious. "Did she teach you anything of substance at all?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. She already thought he was a brute, and he was doing little to convince her otherwise. _Stupid old fool, Hades_. She blinked, stunned, and then that fire he saw on the first day they met blazed anew.

"My mother taught me manners," she hissed. "Something yours clearly didn't, _my lord_."

His bad eye twitched. From it, he could only make out her blurry silhouette. "My _mother_ allowed my father to swallow me whole. He _ate_ me as a baby. I suppose Demeter, in her infinite wisdom, never told you that story, either."

"I _know_ the story of my family, Aidon."

He looked away from her, enraged, and she did the same. Furious energy pulsed from her, the same power that led them here, and he feared her in that moment. She was a wellspring of strength, a spirit of fire—and he was taunting her like a fool. She was ignorant, but she was not stupid; he could teach her. He sighed. _Fine_.

"Here," he said, kinder now, and he took her hand in his. Surprisingly, she let him.

"I don't know—"

"Trust me. I'll show you. It's very easy. Just reach out, feel for the thing you want in your mind's eye, and—"

In their hands appeared a new set of warm clothes for Kora and himself. A splitting headache and ringing ears rewarded him for his efforts.

"There, see?" He exhaled hoarsely, shook his head. "You did it."

"Aidon?"

"I'm fine."

She cupped his cheek, quickly kissed him there, and he blinked in surprise.

He was dumbfounded. "What was that for?"

"Everything," she answered. "Thank you for teaching me. Come, let's get you clean up."

He didn't protest as she walked him to the pools, didn't say a word as she helped him undress. Afternoon sunlight peeked through the top of the cavern, illuminating everything in a soft yellow glow. She could see everything, if she wanted. He planned to take all this humiliation in stride; he had certainly survived worse. Slowly, he stepped down into the pool's warm waters, sat back against its stony walls.

Suddenly, her gentle hands were on his face, soft and delicate, and he nearly jumped out of the water in a panic.

"What are you doing?" he asked, unable to conceal the alarm in his voice. He was still unused to her touching him, and her penchant for putting her hands on his face set him on edge. In the dream, her touch was not so bad; it was merely a ghost, a tingling sensation of what was possible. The physicality of the sensation here, out in the World Above, set his skin aflame.

"Shh," she cooed, as if he were a spooked horse. "Try to relax."

 _She is to be your wife_ , he told himself. _How can you expect to be married to the woman if you can't stand to let her touch you?_ He swallowed hard, let his eyes flutter shut, and exhaled slowly. Her fingers were in his hair now, gently combing through its matted tangles. Her hand grazed the top of the broken horn, and he bit back a pained groan. "Don't touch that."

"How long has it been this way?"

"Long enough, Princess."

"I want to know."

Of course she did.

"No."

She huffed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Lean back," she told him, and he did, resting his head against the edge of the pool. Her combing turned into gentle ministrations atop his scalp, sudsing up his hair. It felt good, despite his discomfort; she was caring for him, in her own way. He allowed himself to enjoy it.

"Where did you find the soap?"

"Hush." Aidon could almost hear her rolling her eyes. He smiled, feeling the soreness melt from his tired muscles. He was beginning to fall into the land of dreams, until the sound of splashing pulled him back to the present. She had moved right in front of him, began bathing with her back to him.

"Does this seem familiar to you?" she asked.

"Somewhat." He shut his eyes once more. He wasn't sure what she was playing at, if she was trying to instigate another argument or not. "I did not spy on your dream on purpose, Kora."

"And yet you spied all the same."

"As you say."

"I'm still angry with you."

"I know. And you have every right to be, but I do not want to fight with you." He had no energy for that. He placed his palm on his chest. "Skewer me now and leave me here instead."

"No, Aidon." He heard her sigh, felt the water shift as she moved closer. "No, I won't skewer you. I don't want to fight with you, either."

"What a relief." He laughed, hoarsely. Warm water hit his face, startled him awake.

"You're a very frustrating man, you know." Her words were accusatory, but her tone was playful. She turned towards him, only slightly, and the graceful curve of her back made his palms twitch.

"And a bad one, don't forget."

"The worst," she agreed. "Kidnapper."

" _King_ ," he countered.

"King of Ruin." She turned fully to him now, hid nothing of herself, though she kept her distance. Her hands traveled low, sensuously. She kept her smile, playful and devious. "King of Death." Was she daring him? He stepped forward, she stood her ground. _Bold little thing_.

"King of Riches," he said, reaching for her hand. She stepped away from him, but only just, circling him, and she was once again the predator.

"King of making me angry," she teased. Her voice came from behind. Supple fingertips traced the line of his spine.

"I'm beginning to see that now."

She stepped out of the water, helped him up. Once he was out of the pool, she huddled close to him, leaned her head against him. Unexpected contact once more. His heart thundered in his chest. It was too much, this embrace; too real. Every cell in his body screamed at him to run. He grunted, hesitantly wrapped his arm around her. He was acutely aware of their mutual nudity, and her proximity made his throat dry.

"Are you all right, wood sprite?"

"I can hear and feel your heartbeat." She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he grunted once more, surprised. He felt her soft lips curl in a smile against his skin. "I'm so sorry, Aidon." She looked up at him. She had tears in her eyes.

Discomfort formed a lump in his throat. He had never been talented at discussing emotions, and the fact that she was pressed against him so intimately only exacerbated his dizziness. "My dear, whatever for?"

"For transporting us to a place of horror. For—for almost getting you killed."

He didn't know how to respond to that. She had been right to be angry with him: he ripped her away from the only world she'd ever known. And he'd been insensitive to her pain, condescended to her because of his own insecurities and failures. Her hand brushed the area where he'd been wounded, and her touch burned like fire. He flexed his toes in the dirt, willed himself to stand still. "All is forgiven, Kora."

Oblivious to his unease, she continued to trace the scars and stitches that lined his stomach. "These are from my mother," she whispered. "Aidon, did you...did you sew these yourself?"

Her touch was gentle and he wanted more of it, even as his heart raced.

"I did," he answered.

"Why?" She looked horrified.

He ran his hand through her hair, carefully, made her tilt her head up to look at him once more. "It doesn't matter."

"It does. Why would you do that yourself?" She was determined now; her jaw was set. He could tell that her real question was, _What is wrong with you?_

That was all she ever wanted to know. Know his secrets, crack his idiosyncrasies. She had plenty to dig through. He had, after all, lived a very long time already. But still, could he tell her? He wasn't sure. Vulnerability, softness—it made him ill.

"Because it hurts," he said after a long while, closing his eyes. He couldn't look at her while explaining this; it felt too shameful. How could he explain it, this deficiency of his character?

"It hurts?"

"Touch. Always has. Everyone's. Yours too." And he had the audacity to think himself a man. _Pathetic._

She gasped, moved to scramble away from him. "All this time," she whispered, placing her hand over her mouth. "I thought you were just nervous. I'm—I'm so sorry."

Nervous? _Him?_ Never. At any rate, he needed her to stop apologizing for everything. She was a goddess and she'd lost control of herself; nothing more, nothing less. Not every little thing required an apology.

"Come now, there is no need for that. You didn't know. How could you have known? I am not in the habit of divulging these things about myself. For what it may be worth...I am sorry as well. For everything. It—hmm. Well. It shouldn't have been like this." He stepped forward, placed his hands on her shoulders. "Will you forgive me?"

"I—I don't know. I don't know if I can be your queen, Aidon. And I don't know if I—if I can ever forgive you for what you've done to me."

Young, young. She was still so young. It wasn't right to place this burden on her. It wasn't right for him to want her like this.

"You don't have to make that decision right now." He wiped away the tears on her cheek. The girl barely understood who she was, and her powers were as unpredictable as they were potent. Neither one of them were in the best state to be discussing the future.

"I know, but I still want—" she stopped, looked up at him with authority and regality and—stars above—he wanted to kiss her.

"What do you want, Kora?" His hands itched to move lower, to hold her waist. He kept them firmly planted on her shoulders.

"Freedom," she answered, but her breathing hitched. She wasn't done.

"And?"

"And—" she hesitated, then looked up at him. "And I want...you, Aidon."

It was different this time. His hand reached out, cupped her face. Kora shut her eyes when he kissed the top of her forehead. The waterfall that guarded the mouth of cave roared, though its sound was a distant and gentle rush in his ears.

"Kora," he sighed. "Are you sure you want this?"

It was a loaded question. _This_ was vague, and he was a villain for being so vague. Did she want _this_ : a kingdom, a king, or just a simple fuck; or did she want all three? He knew she wasn't certain; she would take _this_ as far as she wanted, and he'd oblige her. It was the least he could do.

"Yes," she said. Her voice didn't waver.

"Then I am yours." She stood on her toes to press her lips against his. Finally. His chest ached. It was a tender kiss: innocent, fragile. And damn him, he wanted more. Confused thoughts ran through his mind: hold her, comfort her, kiss her, pull her hair, fuck her, punish her.

He had a darkness inside of him, that much he knew.

What had she called him the day before?

 _Filthy, dirty old man_.

He'd show her just how right she was. He kissed down her neck, took her soft sighs as approval. Her skin was smooth, warm with life. She still smelled like lavender. Stars, he wanted to ruin her. _Gently,_ _you brute_ , he told himself. _Be gentle_.

"Lie down," he told her, soft as he could, and she did, pulling him down towards her by the neck as she sat down and back. They were in the dirt. Hardly a place for consummation. Filthy.

She was blushing. Apprehension shown in her eyes, even as her fingers curled in his hair. _Her_ hands. _Her_ touch; she was trying not to burn him. He grabbed her wrist, placed her hand on his waist. _It's okay_ , he told himself. _It's her_. He wanted her to hold him, he did.

"Are you going to _devour_ me now, Hades?"

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle movement of her soft breasts. He was hard now, pressed against her thigh, and the sensation did nothing to help his dizziness. "Only if you let me."

In answer, she placed her palm to the ground, called forth a bed of soft grass. She smiled at him, _a knowing smile_ , he thought, and he kissed her, hungry and carnal. She moaned. The sound caressed his ears, soft and feminine and ferocious, and the tip of his cock tingled unbearably.

He kept kissing her, and soon she stuck her tongue in his mouth, the wild thing. Their kisses turned from heady, slow, teasing things into something more lustful. He'd kiss her and she'd kiss him back. He'd push, she'd pull; and it was a delicious, exhilarating dance. Her breasts pressed up against his chest as her hands roved up and down his sides, causing him to shiver.

Breaking away from her lips, he kissed down her neck again, lightly bit her on the shoulder. She gasped, and he kissed the mark he made. She was shaking beneath him. Not to be outdone, she snaked a hand between their bodies, grabbed his aching cock, and all he could do was pant into her shoulder like a beast as she experimentally ran her thumb over him. In this, too, her touch was more potent. He cursed, then cursed again as she began to pump her hand, slowly at first, and then faster, and faster still. His stomach tightened, his eyes rolled back. _Fuck_. He was already so close, he was going to, he was going to—

"St-stop," he gasped, stuttering like a young man. He grabbed her wrist.

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he said, laughing and breathless, kissing her once more. "Certainly not. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"O-oh." She grinned, rather sheepishly. A win for her. She seemed satisfied. _Minx_ , he thought.

He moved down, took a pert nipple into his mouth, swirled his tongue there and suckled in time with her breathing. Her fingers pulled tightly onto his hair, her chest rose and fell rapidly. She was sensitive, this wanton girl. He spent a long while there, enjoying her sounds as he kissed her breasts over and over again. It was only when he felt her move her hips up, ever so slightly, instinctively seeking friction, that he moved his attention further down her abdomen.

Slowly, he placed a trail of kisses down her stomach, hummed in delight when he felt her squirming at his touch. Hunger: he wanted to awaken her hunger, tease it out of her until she cried out his name like a prayer. He ran his hands down her well-muscled thighs. Her legs were beautiful and strong, even as they trembled beneath his fingers.

He started kissing her on her hip and then moved down to her thighs, stopping only when he heard her suck in a sharp breath. "Something wrong?"

"No," she breathed. Her skin was beautifully flushed. "Your beard just..tickles."

He continued, smiling, pulled her thighs apart slowly so as not to scare her. He was pleased to find that she was already quite wet.

"Tell me, Kora," he said, drunk at the sight of her. Oh, he was going to ruin her. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Y-yes," she told him, covering her eyes with her forearm. Embarrassed, ashamed. No need for that.

"Show me," he said. "Don't be shy now. I want to see _."_ Dirty; he was such a dirty old fool.

So she reached down, cautiously, and began to explore herself. One finger, and then two, and then she was fucking herself with one hand and fondling her breasts with the other. It was a beautiful sight; she was beautiful like that, caught in ecstasy.

"Who do you think about," he asked, wrapping his hand around his throbbing prick. "When you touch yourself like this?"

He knew what she would say, felt it deep in his bones.

" _You_ ," she answered, moaning. Music to his ears. He could spend himself right now, just from watching her. _You, you, you_.

Her nipples were taut buds, her breathing was erratic. "Do you want me to touch you now?" he asked her, cruelly, because he knew full well that she did.

"Yes," she pleaded, wanton. "Yes, Aidon, _please._ "

He made a sound from deep in his throat, replaced her hand with his tongue, and she all but howled in response. She was slick as he licked up and down her vulva.

He took his time, swirling his tongue around the delicate folds of her labia in a pattern that made her grind her cunt into his face in sweet desperation. Her insistent whimpers spurred him on, and he began to lick at her clit, tongue at her entrance. This was his punishment for her; he would make this act as torturous as it was sweet. She cried out, and he felt his cock grow even harder in his grasp. He stuck a finger inside of her, slowly, and pressed a second one in as she began to rock her hips against his hand.

She was close; her walls pumped around him, grasped at him.

"Aidon, I'm—I'm— _fuck_ , I'm—"

And with one final cry, she fell apart.

He looked down at her, feeling immensely satisfied with himself. "Is that what you think about, my Princess?"

She gazed up at him, at first bewildered, but then mischievous. Devious. "That and...other things," she said, sitting up. She wasn't done, the wicked thing.

Kora—maiden. Innocence. _Ridiculous_.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and I get to be on top."

She pushed him onto his back, and he immediately grew uncomfortable. This went against the rules, he knew. Against his station. But then again, so did pleasuring her with his mouth. She straddled him, and he could feel her wet cunt on his stomach. He groaned. Fuck the rules, and fuck propriety. _Wicked, wild woman_.

His hands moved from the nape of her neck down her shoulders, her breasts and her hips, leisurely exploring. He was taking his time, enjoying the feel of her body in his hands. She sighed that lovely sigh of hers, and her graceful fingers touched his face, traced the scar of the wound that ruined his eye. He shuddered.

She inched back on him, until she sat above his aching cock, and she ground herself on him, testing the feel of his flesh against hers. He cursed, grasped at her hips tightly. Inside; he wanted to be inside her already, he wanted to _fuck_ her. She was already hot and slick on him. Just one move, and he would be in her. They would be one. _Hurry._

And then it happened. She grabbed him, guided him into her, and slid down, little by little. It was slow, and the tortuous pace made him clench his jaw. They sighed in unison when she took him to the hilt.

"Don't move," she told him, and he didn't, wouldn't dream of it. Any movement now and he'd burst inside her, pathetic and useless.

With some effort, he asked: "Are you in pain?" He could hardly focus. Her cunt was tight and warm, sucking him up and squeezing him, and it had been a long time since he had done this sort of thing. Already, the tingling, hot sensation of his impending orgasm began to build, pouring straight from his cock into the rest of his body. He could come just from the movement of her breathing. He flexed his toes in an effort to distract himself, thought of records and financial tables.

She breathed out, put her head on his chest. She cursed again, and she sounded like she was hurt.

Just as he was about to ask her again, she started moving, and all of his rational thoughts vanished. She circled her hips and his eyes rolled back. _Finally._ They were fucking.

Yet it felt more than just fucking. This was sex, a barrier crossed between them; an obstacle, overcome. They could work.

Tight. She was very tight. He muttered something incoherent. She agreed with similar gibberish. They could work.

He pressed up into her, and she moved down on him. They pulled each other along to the edges of sensation, delicious friction, a dance back and forth and back and forth. She raked her nails down his chest. It hurt, burned worse than anything she'd ever done to him. He allowed it because he knew that was her way of marking him. He wanted to be branded by her.

She said his name, said it again and again like a prayer, just the way he wanted, and he felt her walls squeeze around his impossibly hard prick. Say it again, he wanted to tell her. Say it again. She leaned forward on him and her red curls formed a curtain of fire around his head. She traced her breasts across his face; he took a nipple into his mouth, lapped at it greedily like a man starved. She cried. Yes, yes, over and over. In this moment, he would do anything for her; she owned him, and they were one.

Possessed, he grabbed her hips and flipped them, keeping himself inside. She didn't protest; she was lost to the sensation of his cock filling her, stretching her, and she wrapped her feet around his back like she was afraid he would escape. Fuck me, she begged. Fuck me, fuck me. _Bold, wild girl_.

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, kissed her there and groaned as she squeezed her walls every time he touched her clit. Her heartbeat pulsed around him, pulling him closer. His hips pushed into her, hers bucked up against him. The sound of skin slapping skin, of heady breathing and wet, swollen flesh took over his senses. They fucked. Around them, flowers grew and then decayed instantly. Life and death, chasing each other, 'round and 'round. It was profane; it was glorious.

She pulled his hair, clawed at his back, and kissed him fiercely. Her hands caressed him; down his arms, down his stomach. Her touch burned, made him whimper. He wanted more. Kissing; they kept kissing, hard and then soft, fierce and then tender. Each one wanted to possess the other. Minutes passed, or hours. They made something close to love. She came, crying his name, and his vision turned white because her cunt squeezed him so hard that he broke apart too.

When he slipped out of her, utterly and completely spent, he held her to his chest. She looked at him with sleepy eyes, kissed the marks she made. She fell into the land of dreams, and he followed her there.


	12. Wounds Pt1

CW: Scene reminiscent of domestic violence. Can we all agree that getting eaten by your dad causes some serious trauma, and that seeing your adoptive kid get eaten also screws with you? All these characters need therapy tbh. Greek myths are rough, even for the gods.

Thank you all for reviewing, btw. I know I don't interact with y'all as much as I should, but it's very nice when you guys review and leave your thoughts. Keeps me motivated when I see other folks are enjoying this weirdass fanfic I've written and it's not just me

Wounds pt 1

"They hadn't spoken since he'd brought her from Eleusis. She slept for days, which I didn't think was possible for a god. Sleeping, I mean. I'd never seen my master sleep until she arrived, and even then, he slept very little. An hour at most, just to get her to wake up—at the behest of the Dream Lord, really. Time works strangely in our realm. When she awoke, my master arranged for the Lady to be bathed, given new clothes—everything she needed. I only saw her briefly after bringing my master his pitcher of wine to the table. I stayed in the kitchen with the other servants and the majordomo. We heard them arguing.

They were shouting at each other. I've never known Lord Aidneous to yell, but he was yelling now, and so was the Lady. The palace shook and the shadows grew darker. There was...a light. White and blinding, as if the sun itself had exploded in the room. The sound was deafening. I'd never heard anything like it before. I ran into the dining room with the majordomo, and it had been completely destroyed. The rafters were falling down and the table had been completely incinerated. I was looking for the Witch, to bring her to the room and see if she could tell where they had gone when Lord Hermes found me and took me here…"

In all of his short and violent life, Xeo had never expected to become squire of the King of the Dead, much less view the hallowed halls of Olympios—and yet, he was doing just that. Before him sat the King of the Gods himself on his golden throne, and the Lady Demeter stood proudly in defiance. Neither one resembled his master very much, but the gods were strange beings: human-like, and decidedly not human at all.

"You tried to murder our brother," said the king, his voice a resounding crack of thunder.

"He will destroy our daughter."

"If I recall correctly, you consented to the match. Begged for it, even. He, however, was not so quick to oblige."

"Yes, I begged him, and I was a fool! Barely pregnant, and I promised her to him without knowing how that cursed realm would ruin him. He is not our brother anymore; he is only darkness and he smells of death."

"My master is not ruined," Xeo piped up, only for Hermes to squeeze his shoulder tightly in warning.

"Don't talk," the young god whispered. "The king is no longer listening to you."

"But they're wrong—"

"Stop talking."

"I don't care about your politics. Lord Aidoneous is missing!" Xeo bristled.

He hadn't known ruler of the kingdom down below for very long, that was true. The man was extremely private, too, which meant that Xeo only caught glimpses of his true character. And yet, despite the king's harsh appearance and overall steely bearing, Xeo thought he was a good ruler and a kind man. Darkness did cling to him, but it was a shroud of sadness that Xeo could only recognize as grief. Still, his master never discussed his feelings... even on the nights when the man drowned himself in wine, and was clearly going through...something.

So he is hurting—that hardly means he's ruined. Xeo had been ruled by a ruined king before; he'd seen the damage, madness, and pain a ruined leader could wreak upon his subjects and upon the world. His master was not that.

"I've heard just about enough from this putrid thing," Demeter said, glaring. "What's it still doing here?"

"He is our brother's squire and my witness."

"Squire? He's a shade."

"My lady, I'm right here—"

"Don't speak out of turn again, boy," the king said, not bothering to look at him. "When was the last time you had a conversation with our brother?"

"You know it's been aeons." The mighty goddess crossed her arms and Xeo could see strong muscles running underneath her brown skin. She reminded him of an ancient oak tree: terrible, beautiful, and wise all at once. In her rich green eyes, he saw a similar sense of sadness that held his master in vice grip.

"So you haven't spoken to him since our daughter was born, then."

"No."

"Well I have, and I can assure you he is not this horrible monster you describe. You, on the other hand, tried to turn our daughter into a tree, despite knowing what a painful process—"

"Don't lecture me. You know very well that you'd do the same if you gave a damn about her."

"I give a damn." Now the king stood. His features were severe, as if he were cut from stone; handsome, but weary. His golden hair shone brightly in the chamber, a crown all its own, and nothing like the white hair of his master. The king's gray eyes began to glow—the telltale sign that he was not a human, though he looked the most human out of the three kings. He had no horns, no sharp fins growing from his forearms, like the Ocean Lord. No scars that he could see, either. "I give a damn that you almost destroyed her and him both."

"Hardly."

"Don't be so sore, dear sister," the queen said, shocking everyone else in the chamber into rapt silence. She placed a hand on her husband's back, and the glow in Zeus' eyes dimmed, but only just. "First born among the children, she will never serve as heir of this house. But she will be a queen. A lesser queen, perhaps, as our brother is a lesser king—but together, they will rule a realm all the same. Is that not what you wanted for her?"

"She is a child."

"No, you know she is not," the queen said, her tone seemingly gentle. Her stiff posture betrayed her true feelings. "You kept her in a state of perpetual girlhood while her younger siblings had already become fathers and mothers."

Demeter looked down, her proud neck bending in defeat. "He's not the man we knew from our youth."

The king scoffed. "How would you know?"

"You saw the vision just as clearly as I did!" she shouted, looking back up at him. "You felt that power, you felt how corrupted it was. You've seen how the strain of ruling that cursed realm of death and ruin has twisted him. He's been Father's warden for aeons—"

"Enough!" bellowed the king. The room shook with the strength of his voice. "You've turned our sphere of influence into a wasteland of ice, and for that alone, I should have you arrested and striped, and now you have the audacity to suggest that Aidon would commit treason against me—"

"You saw the vision!"

"...I don't know what I saw, Demeter. That's the truth of it. And because I once loved you, I will not punish you for the destruction you've caused throughout the realm, but you must stop the ice."

"I will do no such thing."

"Demeter, I command you as your king—"

"Foolish old hag," a rough voice spat. Xeo's nervous eyes darted towards the voice's owner. Athena Parthernos. She appeared less human-like than the others, though no less fearsome. Her stern face reminded him of granite; he'd only ever seen such a face on the general he served, and that was a fleeting moment. He was sure even the old colonel Genly would stand ramrod straight at attention for her—and the man did not think very highly of women, goddesses or otherwise. Her black feathers reflected the light of the room like pools of ink.

"Your daughter has poor manners," Demeter said flatly.

"Says the one dressed in sheep's skin." The feathers grew sharper, but Lady of War's tone did not change.

"Are you not the goddess of wisdom? It does not seem very wise to me to insult a guest of your father in his house."

"Fools must be spoken to plainly, and you are a fool. I can see where your daughter gets her stupidity from."

"Zeus, I will not be insulted—"

"Do you have any awareness at all of what you've done? My father does not care about your wounded pride. At this very moment, the borders of our earthly sphere of influence face invasion from the east. I trust that even in your ignorant mudhole of a hamlet, your people have heard of the might of Persia and its immortal lord?"

Demeter scoffed. "What of him? I doubt he will want a realm of ice. Our lands are safe, you impetuous child; in fact, it seems to me I've done you lot a favor."

"Idiot," the Lady of War continued, and Xeo felt his heartbeat race at the rage he saw in Demeter's eyes. "A sphere of influence is a sphere of influence, be it desert or snow. The more the people of Hellas suffer and die, the fewer worshippers we have for our kind. We will grow weak. Mortal. Do you understand now? Mazda and his ilk will take our lands and our lives without so much as breathing in our direction."

"Maybe it is time for a new regime," the Lady of the Harvest said, cooly, and the room grew quiet.

"Sister, you are treading dangerously close to treason—"

"Treason? What do you know of treason? Hades is the eldest, not you, Zeus. Don't think he has forgotten, spending aeons as father's warden. How could he, being so close to the man who nearly shorn him in two? I...hear him sometimes, you know. Father. Whispers in the dark; his voice grows louder as the shadows form in the fading sunlight. If he can speak to me in such a way, I've no doubt our brother must hear the temptations he offers constantly."

"The whispers of half-mad titan would never sway my master's loyalty!" Xeo shouted. 

"Silence, boy!" Xeo buckled to his knees as lightning struck through him; his spirit burned, and he felt pain for the first time since his death. Hermes knelt down with him, poked him experimentally to see if he was all right. "If that shade talks again out of turn, throw it into the Phlegethon after we are done here, Hermes."

"Understood, father. You need to stop talking," Hermes warned, his voice a sharp whisper once again. "My uncle hates me enough already as it is. If his squire gets smited, he just might kill me."

Zeus turned his fury towards Demeter. "You are telling me this now? Why would you ever consent to marrying off our daughter to him if you felt this way?"

"I only ever thought father's whispers were memories, but I see now that that he was speaking to me directly. Do not think for a moment Hades has forgotten what should be his by birthright, even if you think he is your servant; father has no doubt been pouring poison into his ears since the end of the war."

Zeus' eyes glowed again, and his palms crackled with lightning. "Aidon knows his place. You, my dear sister, do not."

"I only fear for our daughter. You say you care for her—" Athena snickered loudly, but Demeter continued. "Bring her home to me, Zeus. I did not know how that realm of death would change him."

"Why do you think this shade is here?" Athena interjected, pointing an accusatory finger at Xeo. He gulped. "Can you sense your daughter? Death's Master and your whelp remain undetectable, even in the underworld. My father cannot bring her home to you, because he does not know where either of them are. This shade doesn't know where they are."

"Nonsense—"

"Sister, Athena is right." Now the queen spoke once more, and the whole room looked at her, entranced. "If the marriage had been consummated, I would be able to tell. And I would know where they were, even if they were in the depths of Tartarus."

"So they are not married."

"Not in this earthly sphere."

"Then she is still—" Relief washed over Demeter's hard face.

"Truthfully, I do not know. None of us can feel their presence, even faintly. They are not in the underworld, they are not in the realm. They are nowhere."

"But...how could that be?"

She woke up in the middle of the night, to the sound of rushing water. As her eyes adjusted, she recognized the large body that lay beside her. She didn't want to stare at him, she really didn't. But rarely had she the chance to just look at a man, unguarded and bare, before now—and few men were as reserved and fascinating as the one sleeping fitfully next to her. Every line of well-sculpted muscle rippled underneath his skin as he turned, and she watched him, hypnotized.

Aidon's lack of armor and clothing removed some of his overall bulk, but his figure was still imposing. Scars littered his torso and legs, as numerous and diverse in shape and size as freckles. One scar in particular caught her eye, the one he seemed most averse to discussing: a raised mark that trailed from his eye down, down, down, to his groin.

She demurely looked away from that part of his body, allowing herself a small smile as she replayed the memory of their union. She liked the way he felt, pressing himself into her. There was some discomfort initially, that was true, but it soon gave way to pleasure. And oh, how sweetly he kissed her!

She did not think him capable of such gentleness; his size and overall...rough... demeanor had partially convinced her that he would have taken her like brute. Never in her wildest imaginations had she thought he would use his mouth to pleasure her; she had only ever fantasized about mounting him, and he allowed that as well—and he was king of a realm! He was stiff at first, uncomfortable with the taboo, but he soon acquiesced to her taking pleasure on him, and in that moment, she felt worshipped like a queen. She looked at him and smiled; how she would like to have him like that again.

Suddenly he groaned, annoyed even in his sleep. She turned away, embarrassed that she had stared at him for so long, and in a way that could only be construed as lustful. She knew that he was powerful and she knew that she did not fully trust him, despite everything. Panic suddenly gripped her. Was she married to him now? Stars above, they hadn't even used any sort of contraceptives! She was not ready to carry his heir or his bastard, she knew that much. Placing her hands on the ground, she sucked in a deep breath.

There was a plant the nymphs would grow, in the event that they did not want to birth some horrible man's bastard; the berries it produced would prevent pregnancy. She concentrated, felt the warm, tingling sensation of power flow from her hands into the earth beneath, and grinned to herself as a solitary branch full of the white berries grew before her eyes. She plucked them all and ate them quickly, for their taste was bitter, chalky, and betrayed their poisonous nature. Instantly, she felt their effect; a dull, throbbing pain low in her abdomen, as if she were menstruating. Wonderful. She frowned; inducing her cycle was not something she wanted to do, especially in their current predicament. She cursed.

Aidon groaned again, and she noticed that beads of sweat had formed on his chest and stomach. His breathing had become more labored as well, and she wondered if she should perhaps wake him. He seemed increasingly distressed and uncomfortable. Just as she had decided to reach out, he sat up and held his palm to his ruined eye. His other eye scanned their surroundings, looking right past her and then back to her a second later.

"Aidon?" She touched his shoulder, only for him to violently strike her hand from him. Abruptly his powerful grip was around her throat, his heavy body pressed on top of her. His grip was tight; she could barely breathe. His teeth were bared like a snarling beast, and she felt that dark pull of power begin to overwhelm her. She saw rage and hatred in his eyes, and he had never looked at her with such malice...and fear, before. He wasn't even looking at her; he was looking through her at some nightmare only he could see.

"Aidon," she said, gathering power in her hands. "You're hurting me." Her throat burned—yet, strangely, she was not afraid. Dark whispers echoed in her ears. Destroy him, destroy him, they said. He is weak and he is false. The power pulled at her, tempted her, but she did not want to hurt him, not again. Destroy him, they whispered, and she answered No. The voices stopped, but the urge to use her strange gift remained. She ignored that impulse, chose instead to repeat his name over and over again until he blinked, awareness and wakefulness returning to his eyes once more.

"Kora?" The name rang false in her ears. Confused, he looked down at his hands wrapped around her throat and immediately sprang off of her. She sat up, rubbing her throat, ignored the rapid beating of her heart.

"Stars above," he gasped, horrified. He continued to retreat from her until his back hit the side of the cave wall; he collapsed against it.

She stood and began to walk over to him until he put his hands up in warning.

"Stay away from me," he hissed, his voice breaking. He brought his long legs to his chest, crossed his ankles, and formed a change around himself. "Stay away."

"It's all right," she said, soothing.

"It's not," he countered, looking away from her. His jaw was tight; his hands clenched into fists. "What kind of man am I, to do something like that to you?"

She took a step closer, could see now that he was shaking. "You were dreaming."

"That's no excuse." He said the words with such venom and hatred she almost recoiled from him, but she knew that he was not angry with her.

She knelt in front of him, so that they were eye-level, and she touched his cheek. "Aidon, look at me." When he turned his head, she could see that his eyes were watering. "Everything is all right."

"I thought you were my—nevermind. It doesn't matter. This...cannot continue. When we get back, I will return you to your father," he said.

That surprised her. "Why?" She wasn't certain about her feelings for him, she knew that. But going back to her father? The Court of Olympios was not a place she thought of fondly. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I am an old fool, that's why. A dangerous old fool. Horrible king, horrible man, horrible father."

He made a strange noise then, a choked sound of grief, and his whole body shook with immense effort to hold back the cries he held in his throat. She had never seen someone so intent to keep from weeping, like an animal trapped in a cage.

"Why are you saying these things about yourself?"

"You don't understand. How could you? Stars, I couldn't even save him," he wheezed, his fists clenched tight.

"Save who, Aidon?"

"My son," he said, laughing mirthlessly as tears began to fall from his eyes. And yet he continued to squirm, continued to struggle against the burgeoning emotions that roiled within. "Master of Death, by death mastered. His soul is gone, ripped apart. Out of existence in the cosmos—poof. Forever. And it's my fault."

"It's not—"

"It is, it is. And now I've hurt you once again, and I am the one weeping like an idiot. Would that the Fates strike me down and put me out of my misery already. I'm just an old, old fool."

"Aidon," she put her hand on his chest, and he sucked in a sharp breath like she had struck him. "Stop it. You are not an old fool for allowing yourself to feel these things."

"I keep seeing him get pulled apart in front of me and there's nothing I can do," he said, his voice tight. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him or my father, like I'm a child again. I...feel the teeth tearing through me, and I walk through his bowels and I see my son go through the same fate, only he doesn't survive. Over, and over, and over again. And now," he chuckled, "Now, I see you, too."

"Me?"

"Indeed," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. His fingers hovered in front of her face; he dared not move further.

"Are you afraid to touch me now?" He didn't answer, and she took his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly. I care for you. I'm choosing you.

"Everything about you terrifies me," he said, breaking the kiss. "Persephone."

Her skin suddenly turned hot, and that dark power once again bubbled within her.

"What did you call me?"

"Your name," he answered, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Destroyer of Light. Queen of the Final Realm, if you'll have me." Stars, he was still shaking; still trying to keep from weeping.

"Hush," she said, kissing his forehead. He gasped. "It's okay," she told him. She sat down next to him, guided his head into her lap. "I'm here." She held him close as he finally let the current overwhelm him. The sobs racked through him, unabated. She wondered if he kept everything he felt tightly bottled up, and became sad when she realized that was probably the case. She looked toward the mouth of the cave; the rushing water had turned to solid ice, and the cold was beginning to creep in. They would have to leave soon; something scratched at the back of her mind, a nagging feeling that told her they were no longer safe. Persephone. The name rang in her ears, and the power's intoxicating pull grew stronger.

Persephone.

Persephone.

"I'm here," she told him. "I'm right here." 


	13. King of the Frozen Wastes

"We need to find a crossroad," Aidon said, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself.

The cold wind whipped sharply across his face and blew loudly across the frozen lake. Dark clouds overhead cast the morning in a gray, dull light that made his vision blur. He blinked, looked at Kora—Persephone?—hesitantly, cautiously. He wasn't sure how to address her now; in his dreams, he heard the voices of the creatures call out to her; call her _Persephone_ , Destroyer of Light in the old tongue, and other titles as he ran and fought; heard his father laugh that name into his ear. He felt compelled to call her that after...after he had hurt her. He lurched for the branch in front of him, caught it as a wave of nausea made his legs shake. His eyes watered as the harsh wind struck his face.

"Aidon?"

Aidon. She was still calling him that, thankfully. But where did they stand with each other, now? Was she carrying his child? He...doubted it. None of his previous lovers had ever fallen pregnant, but they were simple nymphs and Kora— _Persephone_ , the name echoed in his mind—was a goddess of life, undoubtedly fertile. Her power over life surged through him in their union, cooled the fire and needle pricks on his skin as he endured prolonged, intimate contact. It was calming, that power. Soothing. He shut his eyes. _Enough._ It wouldn't be a problem; Zeus and Poseidon had numerous offspring, bastard and true born alike. If there were a child, he would take care of it; make the whelp his heir, as Zeus wanted.

He felt a light touch on his forearm and his eyes fluttered open. He looked down at her, smiled tightly. Just looking at her made his stomach twist, in fear or lust, he was not certain. Yearning, perhaps. She was so close and yet being around her was so... _painful_ , really. He was raw, rent flesh, and she was the ice on the wind, though she wasn't trying to hurt him. She seemed fond of touching him, too, which was strange. The women he had experience with were more of a mind to let him touch them, rather than the other way around. It was not something he was used to quite yet, if he were being honest. The barrier of clothing helped. She kept looking at him and he felt his throat go dry. Stars, he had _wept_ in front of her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, my princess. I just enjoy...looking at you." And that was true too. My, she was a sight to behold. He thought he saw a tinge of red bloom upon her tawny cheeks and he felt the urge to kiss her, but he did not. She said she had forgiven him, but he knew he was not deserving of something so sweet, not now.

"I...enjoy looking at you too," she said. Aidon struggled to keep his mouth from hanging open. She really did find him attractive; it was difficult to believe, impossible, even. She was staring pointedly at his chest. Such a fierce woman, brought to heel with a simple confession.

Forgetting himself, he tucked an errant lock of fire behind her ear. She turned her bright eyes towards him once more and his chest ached. He kept his hand resting against her neck, paralyzed. Suddenly she shivered, and he drew back his hand as if she had scalded him.

She looked pale suddenly, too. Sickly. Had she finally seen him for what he was?

"We should get a move on," he said, and he wanted to chastise himself because he sounded much too gruff to his own ears.

"Yes," she agreed, weakly nodding her head.

"Are you all right?"

She smiled, nodded. "Yes. I'm just...cold."

And so they moved, slowly trudging through the trees and the thick snow that blanketed the ground. If he pushed out his senses, he could feel the makings of a road or a trail in the distance, five or six kilometers away. Twigs and branches would repeatedly scratch at his face and poke his eyes; he was grateful that his body was starting to heal as it should again. As they continued their journey, Persephone fell further and further behind, though he was not moving quickly.

"...Aidon..."

He stopped, turned to look at her. She was swaying on her feet now, looking at him but seeing nothing. He ran for her, cursing as his abdomen protested in pain. She landed in his arms, and her skin was so hot with fever and sweat that steam rose from her body in the chilling cold.

He called her name but she did not respond. Behind her on the trail he saw drops of blood. His mind raced. A groan escaped her lips and he removed her boots, saw that small roots were sprouting from her legs. Touching his bare palm to her calf, he poured what strength he had into killing that growth—into killing _her_ , and prayed to the stars that she would survive. She moaned again and fell completely unconscious. His little trick would not abate Demeter's curse for long; he needed to get her back home, back to Hecate.

So he threw her over his back and ran. Leaping over fallen logs and through thick brambles of thorns, he ran. Sharp branches scratched his face and threatened to pierce his eyes once more. His legs grew sore with effort; his lungs burned from exertion in the blistering cold air. Still, he continued, knowing that with each second he dallied, the further the transformation would take hold of her. Pushing out his senses, he could hear foot traffic on the road he had sensed earlier, much closer now, and he made his way towards it. _Hold on._

As he broke his way from the trees, he tripped over the deceased body of a young child and landed in gore. The pain in his abdomen returned, along with the dizziness. _Get up. Get up._ He sunk his fingers into the ground. A man screamed, clutching what remained of his family to him.

"Shut up, old man!"

 _Bandits_.

"What do we have hear, a rich couple takin' a stroll in the woods in the middle of winter? Fancy that, Allkyo."

"We'll take the woman off ya hands."

 _Get up. Now._

Finally he stood, and the men before him stared and cowered.

"It's...a god."

" _You idiots, it's the king_ —"

"The king doesn't look like that—"

"You moron, how do you know what the king looks like?"

"The god-king wouldn't trip—"

Squabbling. They were squabbling. So small and violent. So very much like his own family that he wanted to scream. Persephone moaned again; she shivered against his back, feverish and delirious. _I don't have time for this nonsense_. He tried to call forth flames—and this time he succeeded. He could feel their souls separate from their bodies, yet strangely enough, he could not see them in death; it was as if they had disappeared entirely.

 _Strange._ Stranger still was the massive storm that had quickly gathered overhead; a sure sign of his brother, though he could not sense him.

He only had a brief moment to shield himself and Persephone before lightning struck the ground directly in front of him, killing what was left of the mortal family. He covered Persephone's body with his, took the brunt of the burn as the electricity crackled next to him.

" _Zeus_ ," Aidon hissed, confused and angry. "What is the meaning of this?" His brother's arrival seemed like a deliberate attack. The air itself burned.

"I _thought_ I sensed a member of my kindred here…."

The voice was deep, lower than even his own. Aidon stepped back, alarmed. Whoever this was, it was not his brother. He gathered what power he could into his hands; no sword would come forth. Only flames and will alone would be his weapons.

Persephone groaned, and Aidon's breathing began to accelerate. Roots began to poke at his back; the change was gaining speed. If he did not act quickly, she would become a tree, and stay that way. _Hold on._

"Who are you?" Aidon asked, struggling to maintain his composure. He needed to get to a crossroad, to make contact with Hecate. Persephone was running out of time.

Laughter—entitled. Kingly. Sinister.

The figure stepped out from the smoke. He was tall...strangely tall. Taller than Zeus. As tall as Aidon, if not taller. His raiment was made of silver and gold, shining and sparkling like lighting, and his black hair fell down to his shoulders losely. His face looked— _no_ , Aidon shook his head. No, it was impossible.

"Interesting that you would ask me such a question, stranger, when you are the one trespassing in my lands."

"You…" The man had his face. Aidon's face. No scar, no horns; but it was _his_ face.

Suddenly the man was in front of him, as if he had never moved at all, and Aidon gripped the man's shoulders breathlessly as lightning impaled his stomach. "...Why?"

Darkness engulfed him.

Wet. Something dripping down his face. Cold.

Water.

He cracked his eyes open, breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Persephone in front of him and alive, though the change was still clearly progressing. He tried to move towards her, but stopped when he felt the iron manacles tighten around his wrists.

Belatedly, too, he realized his chest was bare, along with his feet. Someone had touched him and removed his clothes. His skin started to burn. _Calm, remain calm._

"You're awake."

Aidon turned his head to the sound of the voice. The two sconces in the room only served to illuminate Persephone; everything else remained covered in a shroud of darkness. Fingers grabbed his jaw; the grip was strong and calloused. He shut his eyes and bit down, tried to master the panic that was rising in him. The man forcibly turned his head back and forth, and it was maddening. He wanted to crawl outside of himself; shed his skin and start anew, like a snake.

"So strange, these... _horns_. I recognize you and yet I don't. So many scars…" The man's hand trailed down his neck and chest, curiously examining what it found.

"Stop."

But the hand did not stop; it touched every knick and scrape and scar, and Aidon tried to call forth his dark flames to set himself on fire many times, but to no avail. He had no power in this place, wherever he was. "Many times I wonder what would've happened if Mother hadn't kept me hidden." The stranger laughed, amused at Aidon's obvious discomfort. "Would I have lived your life, and you mine? I suppose I really ought to thank her more often that I didn't turn into something like _you_."

Suddenly the hands were gone, leaving a cool relief in their absence. An involuntary shudder ran through him and he opened his eyes to see the stranger standing over Persephone.

"Now this one, though," he said, crouching down, "she is quite beautiful. Quite beautiful indeed." He ran a hand through her hair, traced his finger along her cheek. She stirred, but only just.

"Don't touch her," Aidon hissed, struggling against his bonds.

"Who is she to you? A daughter, a niece? No...no, I see it now. A lover." The man smiled at him, and it was a cruel smile, looking so very much like his father's face-fissure. "Beautiful as she is, she is no longer your concern. You, on the other hand, I think I'll keep you here for...study."

" _Don't touch her!_ "

"Or what? You can't even break free of those chains, and yet you presume to order a king?"

Aidon spat. "You think yourself a king? A ruler of a frozen wasteland is no king."

Now the man stepped away from Pesephone, but Aidon kept himself from breathing a sigh of relief.

"I am King Hades Polynikes, king of the known world. I own the skies and the earth. The eastern lords bow their heads in fealty to me. The northern lords cower and pay me tribute. Even the fiefdoms of the sea owe me allegiance. Frozen lands are still lands."

"And the Other Side?"

"What of it?" the man scoffed. "The Other Side holds no interest for me."

"You could not master it."

"And you did? Ah, I _see_. You did indeed. And this woman is to be your wife? Your queen and consort? She is, I can see it in your eyes. She means very much to you. You need not worry; she will be healthy and cared for as one of my many concubines. I may even let you fuck her one last time, but not before I have my go at her—and not before I make you watch."

Once more he turned to Persephone, began to remove her clothes. Aidon pulled at his chains, breaking and re-breaking his wrists as the man slowly and meticulously removed all her articles.  
Soon she was completely naked and Aidon could see the small branches sprouting from her legs, gold ichor oozing.

The man drew back, but only slightly. Then he ran his hand along them, as he had done to Aidon's own scars earlier. "She seems to be mutated like you. What a beautiful malformed pair you make."

" _Don't fucking touch her_ ," Aidon seethed. " _Stop._ " He was sweating, exhausted from pulling against the bonds; his wrists were constantly breaking, and he felt the flesh on his forearm beginning to tear.

"Look at you, so valiant. Do the mortals worship your altruism?"

He began to remove his own clothes and Aidon bared his teeth, pulled even harder on his bonds. He was going to rip his arm off; the flesh was tearing and irreparably breaking at his elbow and the man was getting closer and closer to—to…..

 _No. No. I won't let him. I won't._

Harder, he pulled, focusing on her face, her knit brow. The wet sound of flesh tearing distracted him from the pain.

" _Persephone!_ " he called, desperate. If he could wake her up, he could—

Suddenly her eyes opened, and she saw the man over her, and she screamed.

" _Persephone_ ," Aidon called again, ripping his arm from its bond and leaving his hand behind in the manacle. With one arm free, he had more leverage—and pulled his other arm free as well. With all his strength, he barreled into the man, knocking him down. Aidon straddled the man, began punching his face with his only hand. Over and over he punched the man, turning his face into a pile of unrecognizable gore. Ichor splashed Aidon's chest and yet he continued, a beast savoring its kill.

"I'll kill you," he muttered to himself, repeating the threat with every blow. "I'll fucking kill you." Heat radiated from behind him, from Persephone, but he ignored it. Rage boiled in him, fueled by the agony in his ruined arm. The heat grew more persistent, and the darkness in the room turned to light, and still he continued to pummel the man beneath him. The man's face was a pile of bones and muscle tissue, and yet he continued to laugh, taunting—like his father; so much like his father. " _I'll kill you_."

 _Aidon._

 _Aidon._

" _I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you."_

 _Aidon._

" _Aidon._ "

He punched a marble floor, blinked. There was a light touch on his shoulder, gentle but weak. He looked up; it was her. She was shaking, filthy; branches were growing from her arms now, from her fingertips. "Aidon," she said again, strained whisper. She collapsed in his arms.

In the distance he heard footsteps, and the young voice of his servant Xeo calling his name, but soon his own heartbeat became thunderously loud in his ears, drowning out all else.

"Persephone," he said, and promptly lost consciousness.


	14. Nature

"Xeo, bring me that bowl."

"Yes, m'lady." Xeo glanced at the witch quickly, careful not to catch her eye. Her constantly changing appearance made him uncomfortable; one moment she would be old, and then in the next instant, she would look young like a child. Her eyes glowed an iridescent yellow, and her gray skin was lined with black tattoos, inscriptions in various languages. She had seen the world; not just the sphere of the gods of Hellas, but the _whole world_. A powerful enemy...and yet an equally powerful friend. Not for the first time, he wondered why King Aidoneous had not attempted to make _her_ his Queen and consort, instead of the young spring goddess.

"Stop that," she said, sighing.

"Stop what, my lady?" He subtly watched her caress Lady Kora's skin with a strange salve, tracing the lines of her arms. The roots and twigs that had been growing out of her began to recede, and the young goddess shifted uncomfortably in her sleep.

"Your thoughts lead down a dangerous road, young one. Aidon is like a son to me. We could never be lovers, let alone _married_. Now give me that." Hecate motioned for him to grab a jar of oil.

"Apologies, my lady. It just seems a more...appropriate match?"

She snorted, laughing. "Certainly not, my young Xeo. She will make him happy and he will do the same for her, if they only would stop getting in each other's way."

Xeo looked down once more at the goddess, who sighed, distressed in her sleep. "Will she be all right?" he asked, handing Hecate the jar.

"Hmmm, truthfully, I do not know," Hecate said, knitting her brow. Her appearance suddenly shifted, and for a moment she looked like an old but kindly crone. Xeo stepped back from her, unnerved. "This is a difficult curse. Demeter poured all her fear and malice into weaving it. But—our future queen is strong of will and mind. Now, help me, will you? Take that damp cloth there and wipe down her face with it."

"...And the king?"

Hecate's face grew dark as she continued her work. "Our king is another matter entirely. He is hardy and stubborn, but I do worry for him. The gods of our sphere are not invulnerable."

Xeo had not seen King Aidoneous in days, delivering food outside his chamber only. Occasionally he would hear labored breathing, as if the king were in pain, but he never entered the chamber; he was not permitted to. "King Zeus has no scars," Xeo remarked, dabbing the damp cloth on Lady Kora's feverish skin.

"King Zeus was not eaten as a baby."

"And King Aidoneous' hand?" It was strange to see such a grievous wound on a god—yet he had seen the king endure multiple grevious wounds in a short period of time, and they did not heal the way Xeo had expected.

Hecate looked at him sharply. "Has anyone told you that you talk too much, young Xeo?"

He grinned. "Genly, King Aidoneous, and now you."

"And perhaps Lady Kora now as well."

" _Stars above_ ," Xeo cursed, stepping back as the young goddess awoke, springing upright in her bed. She looked at him with mad eyes, and then at the titan-witch. Xeo had never seen such fear before.

" _Who are you people?_ " she asked, hissing, terrified.

"My lady, you are safe," Hecate said.

"Hecate? _Hecate!_ Where is Aidon? Is he all right?" she asked, her voice strained. She reminded him of the small finch he had rescued as a child. He picked the bird up from where it had fallen from its nest, and he could feel in its small, fluttering heartbeat the absolute fear of dying; the overwhelming urge to escape; to live. It looked this way and that, and it looked at him, terrified, the way she looked at him now.

"He is safe. Recovering, much like you are. Would you like to see him?"

"Yes! Wait—no. _No_ , I—I can't—" The goddess' startlingly green eyes roved the room, panicked beyond measure. Xeo watched as beads of sweat began to form on her forehead.

"I want _this_ man gone," she said, pointing at him. There was hatred in her eyes that he didn't understand; he had never done anything to hurt her, had never even spoken a word to her, and yet she hated him and feared him. _What happened to her and King Aidoneous?_ he wondered. He had only seen that kind of malice in the eyes of his enemies on the battlefield; never once in a woman, unless…

 _Oh, no._ Had the king? _No_. Xeo shook his head. _Impossible._ Perhaps Zeus or Poseidon, but not _his_ king...

"My lady—" Xeo began, but stopped when the titan-witch placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Go see to Aidon," she said.

"But—"

"Go inform him that Lady Kora is awake."

"But—"

"Xeo. _Now_." Xeo nodded; her tone of voice brokered no room for argument. "As you say, my lady."

As he stepped into the hallway, he ran into Genly, who was markedly more irritable than normal. The old man stopped in his pathway and sneered at him.

"Where are you going, boy?"

"To the king, sir."

"I was just there. We've got Hermes flutterin' about in the throne room, delivering nonsense letters and pestrin' Minos about Hades' whereabouts, meanwhile _Minos_ is requesting _another_ mortal king for assisting in judgements; we've got new souls pouring in by the thousands courtesy of that grain goddess; and to top it off, the hundred handed have lost their damn minds about Tartarus expanding further and quicker than before. _Everybody_ wants to see the king and he's in no mood for visitors, least of all your particular brand of foolishness and flim-flam."

Xeo rolled his eyes. He didn't know why Genly seemed to dislike him so intensely, but nothing he did ever seemed to please the old man. "Lady Hecate sent me, sir."

Genly spat, crossed his old, leathery arms. A former Athenian colonel, unused to pulling rank. "As if that old crone's authority holds any meaning in the House of Hades. Get thee gone, boy."

"Respectfully, sir, she holds more authority than you do."

The old man glared at him. "Now you listen here: you may have the king fooled into believing you're some brave warrior, but _I_ know the truth. You will _never_ be Trico. Were it up to me, boy, you'd be hanging by your bowels in the pit, you helot scum—"

"It's certainly fortunate, then, that such things are not up to you, my friend."

Xeo turned to the sound of his king's voice and bowed low. "Your grace," the two servants said in unison, their petty argument forgotten for the moment.

"Xeo," the king said, brushing past him. "Come with me to my study."

"Yes, your grace."

He grinned at Genly, whose face would've been boiling red if he were still alive, and ran to catch up with the king's brisk pace.

When they entered the chamber, sconces immediately illuminated the room in a warm, yellow light. Thousands of papyrus scrolls sat heavy upon the shelves; stone tablets of an age before rested on top of one another in each corner, making the room smell of dust and earth. A large map of Hellas stood hanging over a roaring fireplace, her lands divided by the claim of the brothers three. King Aidoneous sat down heavily at his desk, the old leather of his chair creaking, and held up a piece of parchment. "Read this."

Xeo blinked, confused. King Aidoneous had never asked him to read anything before.

"Sire?"

"I know you can read. You said before that you wanted to assist me more. Do so now."

Xeo looked at his king: now sporting a short beard, his white hair was now long enough to obscure some of the broken horn and scar over his eye, his left arm in a sling, and Xeo thought he had never seen a man look so exhausted, let alone a god.

"Yes, my lord." Xeo took the parchment from the king's hand. The script was elegant, inhumanly so; Xeo guessed it to be the writing of the King Above.

"Brother," Xeo began, watching his king carefully, "it is good to hear you and my daughter have returned from whatever excursion you embarked on. I trust that you two are now wed, and the relationship consummated, at least for your sake. Demeter has caused many of my subjects to become yours in a very short period of time, and this is something I cannot allow to continue further, lest Mazda catch wind of our realm's weakness. I am summoning you and your wife back to Olympios. Since you were absent from the realm for a fortnight, you both shall have a fortnight to prepare yourselves—"

"How generous."

"...for your trial. Demeter is accusing you of treason—"

" _Treason?_ " King Aidoneous stood abruptly and the room grew cold and dark.

"...given your absence, and your request for regiment of my forces, I am inclined to believe her for the moment. Brother, please understand that you have put me in a difficult position. I did not think you would steal Demeter's daughter in such a way as to prove all her fears about you correct. I did not think you and my daughter would disappear. You have a fortnight. Do not force me to bring you to heel.

Signed, King of Kings

That is everything, sire."

The letter began to burn in Xeo's hands, so he dropped it to the ground, where it promptly turned to ash. His king now sat by the large fireplace, staring intently at the flames. "Sire?"

"Bring me a flagon of wine." The intonation in his voice sounded wrong; dull, somehow. Xeo moved quickly, retrieving the king's favorite wine from the study's store. He poured the cup carefully and placed it in front of the king. When Aidoneous reached out to grab the wine, he knocked over the glass and cursed.

"Damn it all," King Aidoneous seethed. "Damn it."

Xeo moved to pour his king another glass, but Aidoneous waved him off. The king grabbed the pitcher himself and drank directly from it, a long draught of wine that would've left any mortal man immediately drunk. As it was, the king did not seem entirely immune to its effects, for he leaned his head back and shut his eyes.

"Sire?"

A grunt was all Xeo received in response. He tried again. "Sire, Lady Kora is on the mend. She's awake—"

The king said something then; slurred it, really. Xeo frowned. _He can't possibly be drunk already._ Xeo picked up the flagon, found it empty. _Gods above_ , Xeo mused. This was a night of firsts; he had never seen King Aidoneous drink so much before. The man sucked down enough alcohol to kill at least 10 mortal men. _Thankfully the king is not mortal..._

Although looking at his scars, and the missing hand, Xeo could not be so sure. Perhaps being so close to death had made the king less of a god and more of a man. _Master of Death, by Death mastered._ Xeo shook his head. King Aidoneous was hardly unique among his kind; King Poseidon and Lord Ares each bore scars.

The king slurred something again, sounding much more irritated.

"Sire?"

"I don't want to hurt her," he said, cracking his good eye open to look at Xeo.

"Hurt her?"

"She'll hurt if she sees me." The king laughed then, but the sound was joyless, brittle. Xeo did not understand what Aidoneous meant, though he had some inkling. The king was drunk, god or no, so Xeo pressed his luck and asked: "Did you hurt her, sire?"

" _No_." The answer was immediate, certain...but then the king continued, less confident, less certain. His eye bore into Xeo, a bright, burning blue reflecting on the past. "I don't think—I don't think I did. But _he_ —he looked like me, didn't he? He had my face, my voice. He was strong, but I was stronger, and yet he wouldn't stop laughing, even as I destroyed him. I don't know what it means, Xeo, but I can't hurt her anymore. I can't...I can't see her."

 _He?_ Xeo did not understand. Another god with the same face as his master? King Aidoneous had many siblings and cousins and nephews, but no two gods ever looked exactly alike.

"Very well, Your Grace, I will tell her."

"Am I cruel, Xeo?"

Xeo paused in the doorway, looked back at his master. "You are a god, Your Grace."

"Don't pivot around the question, Xeo. If I were a mortal king, would you think me cruel?" Now his king looked at him from both eyes, the gaze uncertain and even vulnerable. Xeo stepped back, startled at the openness in Aidoneous' face. In that moment his king did not seem ancient or even middle-aged; he seemed a young man, unsettled and alone. Like a green soldier on the eve of his first battle, afraid of what the enemy might do to him and...and afraid of what he himself might do to the enemy.

"Sire, your nature is not cruel."

"But you think me capable of cruelty."

Xeo shifted uncomfortably on his feet, cleared his throat. Did he know this king, this eternal lord of the eternal lands, at all? He knew the destruction that the other gods relished in; their petty squabbles; their tendency to treat human beings like pieces on a game board, to be used and discarded, at their leisure. Aidoneous was undoubtedly of the same kind and yet— "We all, gods and men alike, are capable of cruelty, Your Grace."

King Aidoneous looked away then, his gaze returning to the fire. "Carry on with your duties."

"And if Lady Kora wants to see you?"

"Lady Persephone will do what she must."


	15. Knowing

Perephone examined her reflection in the mirror. No twigs were sprouting from her limbs, though she could feel a constant dull ache throughout her body—the threat of transforming was never far away. The witch-titan Hecate had told her to watch for the signs.

Of course, inducing her cycle hadn't helped. The witch smiled softly when Persephone admitted her and Aidon's coupling, and the lack of precautions that had been taken in their union. She wasn't ready for a child, and certainly not a bastard. Hecate understood, had given her a vial of a birth control substance when she coupled with him again.

 _If_ she coupled with him again. She drank it every morning.

Still, she had not seen him in days. She could not. She cared for him, she knew but...he attacked her. A man who was both him and yet not; they shared the same face, the same voice. They were two separate men, yet they were the same man. And Aidon defended her, too; lost his hand because of it, and Hecate wasn't certain if he would ever regain it, either.

 _Aidon_ …

She held her hand to her chest. She...missed him, she realized. She had grown used to his quiet presence, the warmth he radiated when she was near him.

He still hadn't made any effort to see her, either, and that stung. She had remained in her chamber, examining the jeweled murals and carvings that adorned its walls. The abundance of wealth was overwhelming; every day a servant brought her a new gown, finer than the last, dyed rich colors and woven with threads of gold or silver. Even on Olympios, she had never seen such wealth.

She wore a black gown now, its fringes woven with vines of silver and gold. _This one_ , she thought, _is my favorite_. Her wild mane of fiery curls had been tamed, but only just, tied back into a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. She looked regal.

"My lady, you are radiant."

"Thank you, Chole." Her friend, now her handmaiden as well as a shade. Aidon had found her spirit, asked her if she wanted to be handmaiden to the "future queen." Persephone wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or throw him into the Styx for the gesture. Chole died and now her spirit was here, talking to her, dressing her—it was a difficult transition to make in her mind, and part of Persephone felt like the poor girl should've been left to rest in peace. Still, it was good to have a friend.

Now Chloe brought her meals, kept her abreast of news. They had less than a fortnight before they both needed to go to Olympios, but for what reason, she did not know. They would have to see each other then.

"He will fall in love with you when he sees you, if he hasn't already."

Love. Did he love her? It seemed too short a time for such a feeling to develop. Male gods had countless women; fucking didn't equate to love in those circumstances. Still, he protected her, lost his hand for her...that had to count for something. _It had to_. And certainly, she must care for him, if she missed him so badly.

"We are friends."

Chole scoffed, rolled her ghostly eyes. Her attitude had not changed, even though her death was violent. She was still the same person, fearless even in the face of a goddess, and that was nice. "Friends do not make love, my lady."

Persephone smiled, her cheeks burning red-hot. "We fucked, that's all."

Chole shook her head, clasped a glittering ruby necklace around Persephone's neck. "He is very different from what I was expecting."

"Different?"

Her friend nodded. "He is kind. He does not seem like a bad man to love, my friend. You could do much worse."

 _Kind. He is kind._ And gentle too, when he wanted to be. He was the only one who treated her with kindness and respect at the ball. Their coupling was passionate but he took special care not to cause her pain. Her heart fluttered at the thought of his touch, the feel of his soft kiss against her forehead.

In a different life, in a different time, maybe she would love him already. Now, with everything that happened between them, it seemed too wide a gap to bridge. Still, her heart fluttered when she thought of him, even as fear threatened to ensnare it.

"I recognize that look," Chole teased. "Don't try to deny that you love him."

"I care for him," Persephone admitted. "I do. It's just…" She couldn't talk about it; her throat closed up. Phobos possessed her then, and the dark form atop her was Aidon, hornless and with black eyes, and a cruelty and malice she had never seen on his face before, even in battle. Pinning her, ready to hurt her like so many of the gods have done to women in the past. Her legs were in pain and she could not move, and he was her predator—she, his wounded prey. He was going to devour her, ruin her, and leave nothing left.

 _Stranger, that man was a stranger._ And yet he looked so much like Aidon…

 _HE IS A FALSE KING_

The dark voice that had tempted her before rang in her ears.

 _DESTROY HIM BEFORE HE DESTROYS YOU_

"Persephone?"

 _No._ She shook her head, as if trying to convince herself. _It was not him_. _I will not_. She knew it then and she knew it now. He...he lost his hand for her. Ripped himself out of shackles from a dark king she recognized but did not know.

 _Aidon..._

Suddenly, she was possessed with the wild, mad need to see him, even in her fear.

 _HE IS NOT THE RIGHTFUL HEIR TO THESE LANDS_

"Enough," she said.

"Enough?"

Persephone shook her head, as if doing so would shake the voice from her mind. "Chole, do you know where he is?"

"I'm—I'm not sure, Xeo says that he keeps strange hours. He might be in his study, but—wait, are you going to see him _now_?"

"I need to, I have to make sure—"

 _I have to know._

 _YOU ARE A FOOL, GIRL_

 _So I will be a fool, then._

The voice laughed, a malicious, venomous sound. When it abruptly stopped, she was glad for its absence.

She ran out of her chamber, uncertain of the palace's layout, much less where she would find him. She passed several shades, all servants, who would gape initially and then bow low, saying "my lady" as she hurried passed them.

"The king," she said, "I need to see the king. Where is he?"

"The throne room, my lady—"

"No, he's surely in the war room—"

"My lady, he's in his study, this way—"

"He takes his supper at this time—"

"He is sparring—"

Persephone shook her head, kept moving. She would check every room, she decided, until she found him. She headed to the dining room first, since she had some idea of how to get there. It had been newly refurbished since she had last seen it, painted with new frescos of vineyards and forests that reminded her of Eleusis. The wall she destroyed was left open, so that the king could overlook his lands.

Persephone looked out at the Final Kingdom for the first time, and her breath caught. The sun shown a bright red, and sat low in the sky, as if in a perpetual state of twilight. The Black City below the palace sparkled like a jewel, its lights reflecting gold and silver across the onyx rooftops; white, lucious fields of asphodel stretched beyond the city walls, seemingly endless. If she listened closely, she could hear the joyous ruckus of the shades below, selling their wares within the city's numerous markets: baked goods, meats, fine linens. Music played; she could hear children laughing. A second life for the soul of every human being and creature; she spotted several satyrs and centaurs roaming the streets below, serving as merchants or playing a lyre.

She yearned to go there, to be amongst the folk and be free.

 _There is much to this world and...to him, that I do not understand._

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," Persephone admitted. "I never thought that the afterlife would be so...full of life."

"Indeed, it is one of the most beautiful cities I've seen, and I have seen most. Those of the future and those of the past."

"But where is Elysium?"

"Further north, filled with only the most noble of souls, and those who do not need a sense of purpose to find peace in their time here. It is a beautiful place, but far too rural for my tastes. The city is far more entertaining. Alas, you won't find our good king there today."

Persephone turned around, saw Hecate smiling softly at her.

"Where is he?" she asked, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Sitting in judgement. I can take you to him, if you'd like."

Her heart fluttered and her throat became dry. _Don't break now. I have to see him._ "Yes, please. I think I would get lost trying to get there by myself."

The witch-titan nodded in understanding. "Follow me."

The throne room was made of a mixture of black and red marble, with gold and silver accents. Threads of platinum told stories of the titanomachy in murals on the walls; she shuffled quickly past the gruesome scenes of Cronus eating his children.

She heard his voice before she saw him, booming and deep. She felt her knees grow weak. "Hecate—" The witch had gone. _Shit._

"You murdered your family," Aidon said, sitting back against his onyx throne. "You recognize that I hold little patience for kinslayers, correct? And yet you specifically requested that I sit in judgement of your soul. Why?"

"Your Grace, you are just and fair and merciful—"

"Fair?" Aidon chuckled, and it was not a happy sound. " _Merciful?_ " His silver crown glittered brightly in the firelight.

"Y-yes, Your Grace, m-merciful. I did not want to kill them, b-but the winter—there was no food, they were never going to survi—"

" _Silence!_ " he bellowed, causing the shade to begin shivering. "I grow weary of hearing such excuses. You must forget that I have already seen your heart. I searched for your sense of courage and duty to your family; I have found you bereft of both. You shall never see your family again in the Black City nor shall you have a chance to try again in the World Above—"

"Your Grace, please, I beg you!" The man was groveling now, crawling towards Aidon's feet.

"I sentence you to the pit. So it is written, so it shall be done. Get this worm out of my sight," he ordered with finality, curling his lip in disgust. He sat back then, coldly watching as two guards dragged away the screaming shade; Persephone saw a great weariness in his eyes, a dullness she had never seen before. She stepped forward from the shadows, said his name. His head perked up to the sound of her voice.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, bemused. Then, more irritated, eyes narrowed, "and... _unannounced_."

"Hecate brought me here. I needed to see you," she said, brushing off his acerbic response. Why was he angry with her? "And besides," she said, gaining more courage, "is this not to be _my_ throne room as well? Are you not to be my husband? Why must I be announced before I can speak to you, Aidon?"

He blinked, waved his hand noncommittally. "Leave us." Suddenly, the shades of courtiers and palace staff that Persephone had not seen before became visible, leaving the king and her together in the empty room.

"I am here," he said. "We are alone." He, curiously, did not move to stand, instead sank further back into his throne.

As she stepped closer to him, she could see the circles under his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

He furrowed his brows, annoyed. "Don't think me so weak and mortal as to _need_ sleep."

She sighed, scrutinizing him further. His white hair had grown long enough to fall in front of his eyes, and his beard had grown thick enough to hide some of the scar that ran down his face. He looked rather...unkempt, and was visibly irritated, his mouth set in a scowl. "Are you always in such a foul mood or is it because you haven't slept since—"

"What do you want?"

"Oh, for the love of— _you_!"

" _What_?" He gaped at her.

She sat in his lap then, furthering his shock. He immediately stiffened and looked at her, uncertain. "I swear, you can be so obtuse. I want you, Aidon, you impossible, infuriating man. I want you. I wanted to see you, to make sure that—that you weren't the same man who hurt me."

He turned his head from her, unable to meet her eyes. His jaw clenched tightly.

"I can't say for certain that I'm not," he said, blinking back tears. He wasn't touching her, she realized.

 _They are two very different men_. She knew that was true and yet she still feared him, even as she sat in his lap, even as she wanted nothing more than to kiss his forehead, to soothe his aches and worries. She cupped his cheek and he shut his eyes tightly.

"Aidon, look at me."

She turned his head back to face her. She grabbed his arm, the one with the missing hand; heard him suck in a sharp breath.

"You tore your hand off for me," she said, and stating that fact out loud made the reality of the act all the more powerful. He had not healed. His hand was gone; the great king of the eternal lands permanently crippled himself to save her.

"I could do nothing else," he said, watching her as she held his arm, his gaze curious.

 _I wonder...could I?_

Slowly, she poured her power into him, heard him sigh contentedly and relax beneath her as her life-force travelled through him. "Stars above, Persephone…"

Before her eyes, his hand began to regenerate, slowly and then all at once, until finally it was whole again. With this hand he cautiously reached out to her, tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

"You are a marvel," he said, breathless, and he was smiling at her, truly smiling, beautiful. Overwhelmed, she kissed him quickly, surprising him once more. Her mouth did not linger on his, so he cautiously returned her kiss with another. _Is this okay?_ the kiss asked. A small request for more, and she obliged him, kissed him back.

This kiss was longer, sweeter, and softer. There was yearning in it too; she could taste the longing on his lips like honey. She threaded her hands into his hair, pressed herself flush against his body, and he held her. Her lips tingled at the feel of him, the life in his body. She broke the kiss, pressed her face into his neck.

"I've missed you," she said. His hands ran down her spine, settled them at her waist.

"I've missed you too," he said, sounding very pleased. She pressed herself closer to him, kissing his throat. She could feel his arousal beneath her now, and she felt her cheeks heat up. Stars, she how she wanted him. He made her feel dizzy, overwhelmed with desire. She ground herself against him, seeking friction and he groaned loudly, completely unguarded.

"Wild woman," he said, harsh against her ear, "do you mean to take a king on his own throne? Anyone could walk in, _unannounced._ " He pressed up against her now, holding her hips tightly. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and a wicked idea came into her mind.

"I mean to _taste_ a king on his throne."

Chole had told her about such acts before, and she had seen glimpses of it on Olympios, in shaded alcoves and not-so-secret gardens. She had always been fascinated with the men's faces, how lost in pleasure they seemed to be. And besides, he had tasted her; she thought it only fair. _We are to be partners, are we not?_ Though she still wasn't sure whether she wanted to marry him. She just wanted _him_ ; his companionship, his affection.

He sucked in a sharp breath, immediately stiffened back up again.

"I see," he said, his voice still ragged but now edged with a twinge of uncertainty. She sat back from him, searched his face.

"Aidon, do you trust me?"

"Yes," he said, his response immediate.

"I won't hurt you," she said, kissing him again.

"I know, wood sprite." But the fear was real, she knew. He was still not used to her touch, though he yearned for it all the same. She opened the top half of his robes slowly, watching as his throat bobbed in anxiety. He was surprisingly lean for such a large man; nothing like the barrel-chested Ares, or the comparatively stocky Poseidon.

"You are quite handsome, you know." Her hands ran atop his large shoulders, his defined arms and chest. He shuddered. His skin felt warm against her palms, his well-sculpted muscles exuded strength. Covered in numerous scars, his body had endured harshness she could not imagine, but it was beautiful all the same. She traced the scar that ran from his eye down to his groin, causing him to hiss. She stopped.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said, tightly. Then, releasing a breath, more relaxed, "I'm fine. Forgive me, I'm—I'm unaccustomed to this."

She nodded, kissing his scarred face and following the trail of the wound down to his chest and abdomen. She looked up, gauging his reaction. His half-smile signaled to her to continue, although cautiously and slowly. Experimentally, she took each of his nipples into her mouth and he cursed as her tongue swirled around each sensitive bud, reflexively rocking his hips up into hers. She shut her eyes at the delicious friction.

"Just let me take you," he said, his voice heavy, ragged with desire. She kissed him and he moaned appreciatively into her mouth. She could feel his hard cock through the fabric of both her clothes.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he asked, breaking the kiss and rocking his hips up.

" _Yes_ ," she gasped, surprised by how wanton she sounded to her own ears. Stars, how she wanted him!

"Let me in."

"Not yet," she said, wickedly, kissing his nose. He huffed out, annoyed, and she smiled. No, she still wanted to taste him. She moved back from him, this time lightly touching his arousal through his clothing. He groaned, a guttural sound that she only wanted to hear more of. She smiled, returning to kissing down his abdomen. The muscles there twitched on contact as she traced each scar with her lips.

Finally she moved down to his groin, where his arousal stood proudly erect through the layers of his robes. She unclasped the leather girdle that ran about his waist, sifted through the robes slowly until she felt his warm flesh. As she removed the last of his clothes, she noticed he was shivering.

His hands grasped the armrests of his throne, white-knuckled.

"I won't hurt you," she said, kissing the inside of his thigh.

He nodded stiffly. He did not seem convinced. She ran the palms of her hands along the tops of his powerful legs, hoping to stop his shivering. Gently, cautiously, she reached for him, ran her thumb over the swollen head of his cock slowly. From the corner of her eye, she saw his fingers flex.

Liquid was already coming out of the tip, and she quickly moved to lick it away, which earned her a gasp. She ran her tongue down his length, then, cupping and kissing the sack beneath. She heard him curse as she ran her tongue back up his thick cock and took him fully into her mouth.

"Oh, _fuck,"_ he gasped, raw and vulnerable, and the word sounded beautiful on his tongue. She took his cock as far as she could, and what remained she pumped with her hands. His strong fingers threaded through her hair, shaking.

Though she was on her knees before him as he sat in his throne, she had never before felt this powerful. Every hitched breath, every instinctual buck of his hips—she knew she caused it, and that knowledge exhilarated her. She had never tasted a man before, but she loved the feeling of giving him pleasure, of making him lose control. She sucked his cock hungrily, head bobbing up and down quickly and set to a rhythm, repeating movements that made him squirm in his seat. The sounds of cock sliding in and out of her mouth were profane and glorious. As she came up, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head and looking at his face, and saw his yearning and his love there.

She had never been so wet before in her life. Now every movement she made with her tongue, every pump of her wrist along the shaft, would elicit needy, desperate sounds that she knew he wanted nothing more than to keep bottled up. She could feel his hips begin to rock into her mouth, could hear his breathing become more labored. His fingers wove more tightly into her hair now; any semblance of control he had was slipping.

" _Fuck_ ," he cursed again, "you're going to make me— _fuck, woman_ —I won't last." His words were strained, and she could tell he was saying them through clenched teeth. She was desperate for him now; her cunt pulsed with the need for him to fill her and she could feel her wetness running down her legs. She did not want him to spend himself in her mouth, she decided; she did want to feel him inside her once again.

She released him from her mouth with an audible pop and sat back on his lap, hitching the hem of her dress up to her waist. At the shoulders, she removed the straps of her gown so that he could have access to her naked breasts, and he kissed them greedily, making her shiver.

She ground the wetness of her sex against him as his tongue swirled around her nipples, took one hand to guide him in. She was so wet that he slid in easily this time, his stretching of her all sweetness and no pain. They both sighed as he entered her fully, touched their foreheads together.

"You feel nice," she told him, kissing his nose.

He laughed, and the movement made her moan. "I'm glad you find me satisfactory, since all I can do now is think about you," he said, pushing up into her slowly, deliberately. As he moved up, she pushed down, and the two began to find a measured, torturous rhythm. "Stars, you're wet."

"Do you feel what you do to me?" she asked, echoing his question back to him.

"Yes," he moaned, strained. "Oh, _yes_." He sounded half-delirious; his hands pressed tightly on her hips. She moved on him faster, in an effort to get him to pick up his pace. She wanted more, needed more; she wanted him to fill her completely.

"King Hades," she said into his ear, making him shudder, "fuck me harder."

He nodded, beyond words now, and with a snap of his fingers they were no longer in the throne room but rather in his bedchamber, and he looming over her, looking at her with a potent mixture of lust and affection, and she pulled him down to her to kiss him as he fucked her.

He pumped harder inside her now, and he took his thumb to gently press against her clit, causing her legs to lock around him. She wanted him here, she wanted him close. His thumb pressed against her harder and she clenched herself around him, moved her hips in time with his.

"Don't stop," she begged, digging her nails into his back. She was close; she could feel the heat beginning to radiate from her core to the rest of her body. From his ragged breathing in her ear, she could tell he was not far behind. One thing would push her over the edge, she knew. She also knew it was not wise.

"I'm close—" he said, his control all but gone. " _Fuck,_ I'm going to—"

"Come in me," she said, wanton. "I want to feel you."

As if on command, his breath caught and he climaxed inside of her with a guttural moan, and the feeling of his seed filling her sent her over the edge as well.

When they were done, he held her close to him, her head laid on his chest. Her fingers ran through the curls she saw there. She could hear him thinking, his body humming with anxious energy.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him. He sighed, kissed the top of her head.

"We have ten days before my trial on Olympios."

" _Trial_?"

"Yes," he said, sounding very grave. "Your mother has accused me of treason for bringing you here and your father must now adjudicate the accusation."

So that was why they needed to go to Olympios. She kissed his chest, heard him sigh. His grip grew tighter.

"Persephone…"

"Hmm?"

"I don't know what will happen at this trial. You father could demand that I return you to your lady mother, since we are not officially yet wed, or he could conceivably strip me of my rank. I'll be at his mercy at his seat of power. I don't know what you feel for me, if—if you want something more or you only want sex but I—"

"Hush," she said, kissing him. "I don't...I don't want to worry about such things right now, and I don't want you to worry about them either. Just...be present with me. Please."

He quirked an eyebrow, confused, but then smiled, kissed her forehead. "Very well, my little wood sprite."

 _Ten days_ , she thought. That was hardly any time at all. The dark voice rang inside her head again, laughing.

 _YOU CHOSE POORLY, PRINCESS_

Her legs began aching. She clutched Aidon tighter.

 _No_ , she thought to herself. _I don't think I did_.


End file.
